


An Ordinary Life

by starrdust411



Category: Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy (2005), Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy - Douglas Adams
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Het Relationship, F/M, Implied Mpreg, Language, Love Triangles, M/M, Mpreg, Original Character(s), Post Mpreg, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-06-19
Packaged: 2018-01-20 05:17:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 29,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1498042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrdust411/pseuds/starrdust411
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur comes back to Earth after eight years away with a small souvenir from his travels. (Set during "So Long and Thanks for All the Fish")</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Of all the things that could have greeted him upon his return home, torrential rain pouring from a pitch black sky was not high on Arthur's list of wants. Yet he felt confident in assuming that it was for this very reason that it was currently doing so, because even with this remarkable turn of events doing its best to say otherwise, Arthur Dent was still firmly of the mind that the Universe was forever frowning upon his very existence and took pleasure in his misery. 

Arthur grunted and groaned wretchedly as he trudged through the soaking wet ground that seemed keen on sucking him downward into the mud as he made his way towards the paved road that never seemed to get any closer. A bitter gust of freezing wind tore past him, causing Arthur to shudder underneath the weight of his now drenched clothing as he clutched the towel wrapped bundle in his arms closer against his chest. He felt the warm little body squirm in his arms in response and he suddenly felt the need to say something.

"This is the Earth," he announced. His words had been meant as a declarative statement, but even in his own ears Arthur could hear the hint of uncertainty. "Don't worry. It's not usually this miserable." Arthur regretted this immediately after saying it, because if the ship had in fact dropped him off in England as he had requested, then this was a comment that would soon be proven false in the near future and Arthur still couldn't stand the idea of looking like a fool in front of his companion. 

He came across the road at last and walked along the slick, gravely edge for the better half of a mile as he was passed by a few lorries and a handful of cars, none of which seemed eager to stop for a haggard hitchhiker doing his best not to drown in this frigid downpour.

Arthur was beginning to regret this trip and how little thought he had put into it when at long last a car finally did stop. His heart nearly leapt out of his chest as he watched the vehicle pull on to the side of the road, a level of delight that increased when he got a glimpse of the British plates on his way towards the passenger side window. The man inside rolled the glass down and leaned across the seat in order to get a better look at Arthur. If this were a different time Arthur might have been embarrassed, perhaps even ashamed, of his current appearance, but as it was his only thoughts was of getting out of the rain and into something warm.

"How far do you need to go?" the man asked after a far too long pause.

"Not far, not far," Arthur lied, because he was having a hard time judging just where he was and remembering his way home after eight years abroad (that was probably the best way to put it for now) felt as easy and natural as eating boiling hot soup with his hands. 

Arthur was shivering where he stood. He was so cold and tired that he felt ready to just about shake apart by the time the man gave out a loud hum and unlocked the door. Arthur was quick to offer a stuttered word of thanks as he threw his plastic bag into the rear, before stumbling into the car and nearly banging his head when he caught a glimpse of the unconscious woman sprawled across the backseat.

"Is... is she all right?" Arthur asked when he finally stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He glanced at the creature in his arms, shook some of the excess water off of it and then glanced back to the woman sleeping just behind him. At least, he hoped that she was sleeping. Suddenly he wondered if he had made yet another mistake in accepting this ride.

"Is _that_ all right?" the man countered in a voice thick with what sounded like horror as he pointed a broad finger towards the bundle swaddled in the towel sitting in Arthur's lap. "Blimey! You were standing out in the rain with that thing?"

Arthur frowned in distaste at the man's comment as he clutched his companion closer to his chest. You would think the man had never seen a baby before. "He's not a _thing_!" he snapped and if Arthur weren't in such an unfavorable situation, he would have walked out of the car then and there. "And well... we didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter."

The man, who Arthur would later learn was named Russell, didn't look at all satisfied by this answer and was still staring down at the child who was now starting to cry in Arthur's arms. Arthur sighed and shifted the baby against him until his little head was resting directly against his chest. He pressed his cheek to the boy's soft head of curly hair and began humming a song to him. The tune had come from a jingle for a breakfast cereal, and while it probably wasn't the most conventional lullaby, it was one of the few songs Arthur could remember from start to finish and had served him fairly well over the years. This particular night, however, the child didn't seem to be enthusiastic about the idea of settling down and continued to fuss and cry against his chest even as their driver continued to scrutinize the two.

With a reluctant sigh the man, at length, asked where he was to drop them off. Arthur hesitated for a moment, then told him, and was relieved when Russell didn't seem horrified by the prospective distance. Clearly they weren't far from home.

Russell pulled onto the road and soon the only sounds within the car were the steady swish of the wiper blades and the baby's soft cries. For a moment, Arthur watched darkened the world go by beyond the water splattered window, hoping to see some familiar sights or shapes but was quickly disappointed. When that lost its appeal and the baby had gone from whining cries to gently sobbing he busied himself by stealing periodic glances towards the unconscious young woman in the back, captivated by how serene and beautiful she looked.

"So what's your name?" the man asked after they had driven for a few miles, pulling Arthur's attention from the girl in the back.

"Oh, uh, Arthur Dent."

"And the..." Russell nodded towards the child who was blinking damp eyes slowly against Arthur's chest, a clear sign that he was tired and would likely fall asleep very soon if things stayed calm and peaceful.

Arthur shifted the baby in his arms and suddenly found that he didn't know what to say.

\---

_It has been said that prolonged exposure to an Improbability Drive can have long lasting and potentially lethal effects on an organism's health. This was said not by scientist or any person with an actual medical degree, but rather conspiracy theorists who like to say horribly frightening things in order to get attention and the occasional jolt out of their listeners. Whether or not the particular conspiracy theorist who had made this speculative claim had himself had any extensive experience with or knowledge of Improbability Drives is up to much debate, and yet in a surprising turn of events, this particular crack pot spur the moment declaration actually turned out to be true as one Arthur Dent would come to find out first hand._

_"Mr. Dent," a voice called to him from within the haze that had settled upon his mind._

_The voice was unfamiliar and far away and a large portion of Arthur's mind was stubbornly doing its best to ignore it and continue drifting through the pleasant nothingness that had surrounded him. This effort was made difficult due to the sound of suction cups snapping together in the rhythmic manner that fingers would when one was trying to gain another's attention._

_"Mr. Dent? Mr. Dent! Wake up now please."_

_Despite the persistence of the man speaking to him Mr. Dent's mind continued to refuse the calls which soon resulted in a limb striking him across the cheek and Arthur now being able to say that he knows what it feels like to be slapped by a squid._

_Images began drifting into view before Arthur could even begin to register that he had opened his eyes and when he lulled his head to the left he found himself staring at a large purple tentacle squirming about in front of him. This was the sort of thing that would have unnerved him just a few years ago, but now he was seasoned enough in the strangeness of the Universe to regard it as just a slightly unexpected sight. His eyes eventually settled on the face of a being that looked vaguely human-like, save for the purple skin coated with a slight sheen that Arthur would not have been terribly surprised to have learned was created by a thin layer of slime. The man's tentacle limbs came to cradle either side of Arthur's face as he forced Arthur to look directly ahead of him._

_"There you are Mr. Dent," the man greeted in a very neutral tone. "Good of you to rejoin us in the waking world."_

Did I have any say in the matter? _Arthur thought to himself just as another person entered the room. It was a slight male who looked a bit more human than the person in front of him, except that this new comer had four wide red eyes stacked on top of one another and two slits on its face in place of a proper nose. Arthur noticed that the two men seemed to be wearing matching uniforms and that the room he was in was very bright and clean and white and if he were to look down at the bed he was lying in he would have described it in much the same way._

I must be in a hospital, _Arthur concluded, but his thoughts didn't progress much further as the purple man chose that moment to shine a light in his eye, testing the dilation._

_"You've been unconscious for nearly three days now, Mr. Dent," the man, whom Arthur assumed was a doctor, commented in a sort of chiding manner and Arthur distantly felt like apologizing. "We were beginning to worry. I suppose that the operation took a great deal out of you."_

_"Operation?" Arthur repeated in growing horror as a few more people, nurses perhaps?, began milling in and out of the room._

_"Oh yes, we performed the procedure the day you administered yourself," the doctor went on. "You were sedated of course. We didn't expect you to stay under quite so long though." He plucked the glasses off his nose and wiped them against his shirt as a distant chuckle escaped his slime coated lips. "Live and learn, as it were."_

_"I... I checked myself in here?" Arthur echoed, because he was having a hard time recalling anything. The last thing he remembered was leaving the Heart of Gold, but that was over a year ago and clearly a great deal had happened since then._

_The doctor frowned down at him, a worried sort of gleam lighting his eyes as he studied Arthur's confused gaze. "You don't remember do you?"_

_"Mr. Dent checked himself in three days ago complaining of chronic stomach pains," the four eyed man put in as he handed the doctor a metal slab. "He was supposed to be given a prescription for the pain, but collapsed in the waiting room before someone could get back to him." The man turned to Arthur then and all four of his blood red eyes seemed to flash with sympathy as he smiled down at him. "It happens."_

_Arthur looked between the two beings and the people stepping in and out of the door and the machines floating overhead buzzing and beeping and the board just across the room scribbled with unintelligible alien speech. He suddenly felt very warm and dizzy and wanted to go back to drifting in the pleasant nothingness where the doctor had found him._

_"I don't understand," he said at length as he continued to sweat and panic and look around the room. "What happened? What did you do to me?"_

_An offended frown crossed the doctor's face, one that only faded, marginally, when the four eyed man pointed to something on the metal slab. "You had a tumor," the doctor offered at last, using a tone that was intended to be patient and soothing, but Arthur found quite insulting and a bit smug. "It was growing just below your stomach. We got it out with no problem. Just in time I'm sure. It was rather large and likely would have given you a lot of trouble if left alone for much longer."_

_A tumor. A tumor? Arthur slumped back in his bed as his head continued to reel. A tumor? He didn't know what that meant. Well, of course he knew the literal meaning of the word but... did that mean he was sick? That he was better? That he had nearly avoided dying? He suddenly wanted to clutch on to something solid, but found nothing available so he merely laid there feeling his heart hammer faster and louder in his chest._

_"Would you like to see it?" the four eyed nurse, Arthur had decided he was a nurse, asked and Arthur was horrified to see that he was actually smiling kindly at him._

_"See it?" he gaped. "The tumor?" The two men nodded in a gesture that was oddly synchronized. "You mean... you kept it?"_

_The two men shared a look before turning back to look at Arthur. The doctor shrugged and muttered something to the nurse who turned and walked out the room. "Well, when we realized that you were an Earth man and therefore something of a rare species, we thought this would be something you would want to keep."_

_"Why would I want to keep something that nearly killed me?"_

_The man's face turned unreadable, but it lasted only a moment. "We don't usually," he said distantly as he reached up a curled appendage and rubbed at his chin. "But my staff insisted. They've grown quite attached to it while you were unconscious. In fact, the interns even started to pick out names for it!"_

_Arthur paled. "You named my tumor?"_

_"Nothing official," he said with a wave of his limb. "It is, after all, yours to name and care for and do with as you wish."_

_Arthur's head began to spin at this. A part of his brain knew where all this was going, but a bigger chunk simply would not accept this and did not wish to follow the path to the logical conclusion set out in front of him. Yet that all changed when the four eyed nurse returned to the room, pushing along a small floating bin that was currently producing small mewling noises._

No. _Arthur thought as another nurse came up behind him and forced him into a sitting position._ No! _His brain was nearly screaming when the floating bin came to a stop on the other side of his bed. The four eyed nurse smiled as he reached down and lifted what appeared to be a bundle of blankets into his arms._ Dear God no! __

_"Here you are, Mr. Dent," the nurse said in a soothing tone as he offered the bundle towards Arthur. "Cute little thing, isn't it?"_

_Arthur didn't move. His arms suddenly felt like chunks of lead at his sides, a fact that likely frustrated the doctor who came up to Arthur and forcibly put them into a cradling position to allow the nurse to deposit the bundle into. The soft mewls instantly shifted into sharp cries as Arthur looked down into the folds of blankets and saw a small pink human face peaking out at him._

_No. It wasn't a human. It was a baby!_

_"Good Lord!" he half screamed, half sobbed at no one in particular. "I had a baby!"_

_No one said anything to him then. At least, if they did, he could not hear them as Arthur proceeded to scream and cry in ways that rivaled the wailing newborn laying in his lap. This wasn't right. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to be here, in a hospital on some planet in the far reaches of space light years away from where the Earth_ used to be _holding onto a baby that was improbable and his and..._

_"Oh God, you're beautiful," he sobbed after he had regained just enough sense to form actual words. Yet he couldn't do much more for some time, as he allowed himself to sob and whimper pathetically for a few more minutes before finally accepting that this was his child and that it wasn't going anywhere._

_"And you're a boy," he said after inspecting the infant carefully.  
He looked over the child and found that the baby had two arms, two legs, ten fingers and ten toes and seemed to be, while impossible, completely normal. The baby had stopped crying along with him and was now asleep in his arms and Arthur supposed that must mean he was off to a fair start in terms of parenting. _

_"You'll need a name," he sighed, wishing for the first but not the last time that he could have had more time to prepare himself for all this. He ran a thoughtful hand over the top of the baby's head. His hair was black, curly, and incredibly soft. "Well since you are a boy, I can't very well name you after my mother. And I don't think I'll name you after my father either. A human baby born after the destruction of Earth being called 'Adam' just seems a bit too… on the nose."_

Half-human, _a voice somewhere in the back of Arthur's mind leapt up to correct, but Arthur decided to pointedly ignore this. He had just pieced his shattered mind back together and the last thing he needed it to do was fall apart in the face of little details like just who had supplied the other half of this child's DNA._

_"I know. I'll name you after a gold fish I had once..."_

\---

"Douglas," Arthur said at last as he wiped a bit of excess rain water off the boy's cheek. It was the first time in a long time that he had said the name to anyone aside from himself or his son and the thought suddenly made him feel as if he had just lost something small and precious. "Dougie Dent."

Russell made a face, one that very clearly said that he had heard better names from sea sick cats, but Arthur didn't really care because he had decided several miles ago that he didn't really care for this man. Russell introduced himself, Arthur only pretended to listen, and the rest of the ride was filled with awkward silences broken only by periodic questions about the girl in the backseat.

\---

When Arthur left the car his thoughts had been fixated only on getting out of the rain -- which had stopped and started up again during the course of the drive -- as quickly as possible without tripping and falling or waking Dougie. He had only accomplished one of these goals as he had managed to stumble on his way towards the door and jostled the sleeping baby awake. Dougie then proceeded to cry, an ear splitting sound that Arthur had gotten quite used to over the years, and when he groaned it was more in annoyance at himself than his son.

"Don't worry, lad," he soothed as he bounced the boy against his hip before bending down to retrieve the spare key he had hidden in a fake rock by the door. "We'll be inside soon enough."

It was only then that he realized that by all rights there should be no inside for them, because the last thing that he had seen before the Vogons had destroyed the world was his house being demolished. Arthur frowned, looking around the country side skeptically. He didn't see any signs of impending bypass construction, but he hadn't seen any signs of it before that particular day either.

"We'll just have to take our chances," Arthur reasoned as he unlocked the door and stepped into the stale air of the tiny little cottage home. He was suddenly hit by an unpleasant thought brought on by the more than unpleasant smell of the house. _This is no place for a baby._

Sure enough, the unkempt, untidy, little house had never been intended as a place where a child would live, because Arthur Dent had never pictured himself as a man who would bring a child into the world. Yet here was Dougie and here they were in a house with sharp corners, exposed outlets, and dust coated... everything. It struck him in that moment that Dougie wouldn't have a proper bed to sleep in, toys to play with, or even a fresh nappy to change into when the time came. Not that he had any of those things before, but the fact was that they were in a place that would be their home now and he _should_ have those things for Dougie.

Arthur shook his head and all the miserable thoughts out of it, because this was a fresh start and a second chance to make things right. They were on Earth, the Earth was back and as impossibly bizarre as that seemed Arthur was not going to dwell on it, just enjoy it and all that went with it.

"We're going to have a good life here," Arthur declared as he closed the door behind them, bouncing Dougie up and down in his arms in order to soothe away the frustrated tears still pouring down his reddening cheeks. "You're going to have a good life. You'll go to a good school and make lots of friends and there won't be any aliens or space ships or robots mucking about making things difficult. But there will be tea! Plenty of tea."

Dougie had fallen asleep by then, a fact that Arthur could tell without even looking at him, because the child's soft breathing as his head rested peacefully against his chest was a familiar sign of his unconsciousness. Arthur decided to take advantage of this by quickly constructing a make shift crib out of chair cushions, pillows, and blankets before getting to work straightening up the house as best as he could. 

With only the sort of last minute energy that a parent could muster, blurry eyed and bone tired, Arthur managed to throw away most of the contents of his refrigerator (leaving only a tray of ice cubes, a box of baking soda, and something hard and half melted that he couldn't scrape off the wall), dusted most of the furniture, and gathered up all the spare change he could find scattered around the tiny house. He placed the few bills and coins he had gathered into a small tray along with a list of things he would buy first thing in the morning.

With everything cleaned (or as clean as Arthur was able to make it) Arthur decided to allow himself a quick shower before turning in for the night. It was nearly two in the morning by the time he had pulled back the sheets and laid down in his own bed for the first time in eight years. With his dirt coated clothes peeled off, the layers of grim washed away, and the unkempt beard shaved, Arthur was starting to feel a few steps closer to normal. Yet as he laid there he felt the minutes slip away one by one and was disappointed to find, as exhausted as he was, that he simply was not drifting to sleep. 

After a few minutes of laying awake in the darkness he was suddenly struck by the realization that something was missing. It was half past three in the morning before he finally convinced himself to get out of bed and wandered down into the living room where he had left Dougie surrounded by the wall of pillows and cushions. The baby had been sound asleep for hours, but against his better judgment, Arthur decided to take the chance of waking him when reach down and plucked the child up, pressing him against his chest. Dougie didn't wake. He barely stirred as Arthur carried him into the bedroom where he carefully laid with his back flat against the soft mattress, placing the sleeping child against his chest. In less than a minute, Arthur found himself drifting off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While this story takes place within the canon of the books, I modeled the characters after their movie counterparts (with the exception of Fenchurch, who doesn't appear in the film, and Trillian).


	2. Chapter 2

Out in the far end of space on a planet many light years away from Earth, in a bar that could hardly be distinguished as a bar rather than a dank hole in the ground, Ford Prefect was currently engaged in what had recently become his new favorite activity: drinking himself cross eyed and pouring his heart out to any nearby being unfortunate enough to be within hearing range of his voice. It was an activity that he had come to enjoy for two simple reasons: the first being that it was oddly soothing and much cheaper than seeing a brain care specialist and the second was that it was a good way to get kicked out of a bar before anyone could be bothered to charge him for any of his drinks.

At that moment, Ford had just finished his fifth drink which had the foamy consistency of soapsuds, burned like lighter fluid, and numbed his insides like Novocain. The air in the bar was thick and damp, the music was shrieking in and out through the broken down speakers, and the one good light overhead had stopped flickering and was staying on long enough for Ford to be able to make out just where his hand was in relation to the rest of him. He could see now that there were three other people sitting at the bar with him and in the distance at least two couples occupying small tables by the door. He had decided that this was a good enough time with a good enough audience to get started.

"I was in love once," he declared to no one in particular. The bar tender looked up at him, his splotchy gray eyes flickering distastefully in a manner that suggested he had heard this sort of speech a hundred times before from a hundred different sentient beings and couldn't bare the thought of hearing it again. Yet, as a bar tender, he was obligated to do so, because Ford had purchased five drinks and that meant something even in this sort of establishment. "Yes, I was in love once," Ford said again as if to quiet any doubt that his previous comment had created. "With a man dull as dirt and twice as boring."

"That's a bit redundant," a small pig like man muttered into his drink, but Ford ignored him.

"I didn't know why I loved him," he went on. "By all logic I shouldn't, because he was nothing special. He wasn't much to look at, he wasn't even a lot of fun… He was just... him. And, somehow, he was beautiful.

"For a long time I _thought_ he loved me. I _thought_ we were going to see the universe together. I _thought_ I meant something to him. I was wrong."

This was the part of the story that always left Ford feeling low, hollow, and painfully tired as he remembered the very day Arthur Dent had looked at him and said that he was leaving, that life on the Heart of Gold just gave him a headache and he simply couldn't take it anymore. And then he was gone. Forever. Without a hug or a handshake. Just "goodbye Ford" and nothing else. Ford rarely ever spoke of this part of the story, because it was still too hard and painful to think about and because even he knew that some things you just kept to yourself.

"Four years ago. That was _four years ago_!" He scoffed bitterly as he rolled the now empty glass back and forth between his hands and against the not quite flat bar top. The surface of the bar was grimy and Ford could actually see little scuffs appearing on the glass as it rolled along unevenly. The bar keep was now frowning pointedly at him, but Ford couldn't see much beyond his own misery. "We dropped him off on some dreary little mud hole in the middle of nowhere -- I guess it reminded him of the dreary little mud hole in the middle of nowhere he'd been born on -- and I haven't seen him since."

"Well, why don't you just go look for him?"

It was the pig man who had said this and this time Ford decided to acknowledge him, only because it was rare for anyone to bother to engage him when he got in this sort of mood and he felt certain it would feel good to be hostile towards someone. "What do you mean?"

"Why don't you go look for him?" the pig man said again. The folds in his face had rumpled up into a displeased scowl as he watched Ford stare vacantly down at him. "You know where he lives. Just... go talk to him then."

"Hey, look!" Ford said as he swung too quickly in his chair. "Look. I... Look!"

"Yes?"

"I...I did, okay?" Ford huffed, rolling his eyes at the very idea that he hadn't considered this option. "I did go look for him... but... he wasn't there anymore."

It was a lie. A half lie really. Ford hadn't attempted to contact Arthur personally, but he had sent someone else to do the task for him. This was a few months ago and that person hadn't found any signs of Arthur Dent or any being matching his description on Krikkit, a clear sign that the human had gone and changed planets. It was an unexpected move, one that threw Ford for a considerable loop.

Later that night Ford would find that he had failed in his task of getting kicked out of the bar and failed again in an attempt to pay off his tab using an American Express credit card. He would only escaped bodily harm and financial obligation after pulling off yet another trick he used to get free drinks in a pinch, before proceeding to wander in the streets for the better part of the night. Just a few seconds past midnight that night Ford would learn that the dreary little mud hole in the middle of nowhere where the dull as dirt man had been born had returned from destruction and less than a minute after that Ford would find himself with the beginnings of a plan.

\---

"He doesn't really look like you, Arthur," Jill was saying as she held Dougie aloft in her arms. She frowned at him, turning her head from one side to the other as Dougie hung amicably in midair focusing his attention on the bath towel he had lifted from Arthur's cupboards and refused to put away. Jill slowly eased Dougie back down towards her lap, where he sat peacefully suckling on the terrycloth fabric in his hands. "He doesn't have your eyes or your nose or your hair..."

"He's got my chin," Arthur put in almost defensively, because he had been back on Earth for only a few days and already he was sick of hearing people comment on how little resemblance there was between himself and his son. It didn't seem fair to Arthur, because for the past few years he had been looking at Dougie and frankly he had found quite a number of things that the two had in common. It didn't seem right that Dougie's other father -- the man that Arthur absolutely refused to think of or name even after all these years -- should get all the credit for the child's looks when Arthur was the one who had put in all the work. "And my ears. And we even have the same shaped feet."

Jill frowned, Greg scoffed, and Richard took another sip of his drink. 

When his friends from work had heard that Arthur was back they had instantly invited him out for drinks and Arthur had panicked because he wasn't used to socializing with anyone whose vocabulary matched his own anymore. He decided to bring Dougie along with him, both for his own comfort and as a way to explain his extended absence. The sight of Arthur Dent walking into a bar with a baby and a bath towel in his arms was one that had caused a bit of alarm amongst his friends, but he had simply went along with it.

"You sure he's your son?" Greg asked for what had to be the third time as he poked at Dougie's arm quizzically with the tip of his finger. Again Dougie didn't seem the least bit bothered by this and just continued teething on his towel as Jill bounced him calmly on her knee. "Really sure? You did say you found him on your doorstep with only a note pinned to his chest to go by."

Arthur cleared his throat as an awkward warmth spread across the back of his neck at the memory of the lie he had told his friends in order to explain his son's sudden existence. The old baby-in-a-basket story seemed farfetched and full of holes even as he recounted it, but it was the only thing he could come up with. Yet Arthur knew that it wasn't the story itself that had caused his friends to be so skeptical about the baby being his, but the rather large elephant sitting in the room that they were all too polite to comment on.

"Oh yes, I'm sure," Arthur said firmly as he gently detangled Dougie from Jill's grasp and placed him onto his lap. He wasn't quite used to having other people hold Dougie just yet, especially when he didn't know how strong the baby's immune system was and if it was adapting to Earth germs. Dougie, of course, had yet to see a doctor or receive any shots because Arthur wasn't sure just how he was going to go about bringing a (half-alien) baby with no birth records into a hospital for any sort of examination. "I took him in for a blood test and all the results came back positive. He's definitely mine."

His friends continued to look uncertain as a waitress came by and placed more drinks in front of them, along with a bowl of steamed carrots that had been mashed into a thick paste. Dougie had already developed a few teeth and could feed himself fairly well, but he wasn't used to Earth food and only seemed to enjoy eating carrots, if they were mashed, or bananas. Arthur couldn't quite understand why this was because Arthur clearly recalled Fo... the spaceman whom Dougie shared half his DNA with eating a wide variety of food during his time on Earth and seeming to enjoy all of them. He supposed that this was just some sort of infant stubbornness that he was going to have to deal with.

"Are you sure you don't want a seat for your, uh, son, sir?" the waitress asked as she watched Arthur go about the task of balancing the baby on his lap and spoon feeding him the warmed orange mush. "We have plenty you can use."

"Oh, no thank you," Arthur said automatically because he was simply more accustomed to feeding Dougie this way. The waitress stayed just long enough to give Arthur an odd look before going on to see to other tables.

"So you've just been spending the past six months with a baby?" Greg asked as he reached across the booth in order to run his hand through the loose curls on Dougie's head in a gesture that could almost be seen as affectionate if not for how stiff Greg's fingers stayed. "Somehow, I just can't picture it."

"Arthur Dent with a baby," Richard said with thoughtful disbelief. "Never thought I'd see the day."

"Oh come on," Arthur huffed as he spooned some mashed carrots into Dougie's mouth, only to have him spit them back out. "You act as if I had some sort of irrational hatred of babies."

"Not hatred," said Jill gently. "More like a fear."

Arthur wanted to deny the idea that he'd ever had a fear of babies, but it was a difficult argument for even him to make given all his years of avoiding babies at all cost. He still recalled when Debbie, the office manager, had brought her baby girl to the station. Arthur had hid himself in the men's room for the better part of the day waiting for Debbie and her baby to disappear. 

Looking back Arthur realized that his old "fears" hadn't been so much about the babies themselves, but rather how delicate they were. He had always felt certain that if any baby were placed in his grasp it would ultimately end up falling to the floor within seconds. Dougie was the first baby he had ever held for more than a second and after a while Arthur began to have a theory that the longer he held Dougie, the less likely he would be to drop him. This wasn't a very good theory, but it was one that he still believed and caused Arthur great reluctance when it came to putting the boy down even for an instant.

"So do you think you'll be coming back to work soon?" Greg asked. He had moved his hand away from Dougie when it became apparent that only half the food that went into the baby's mouth was guaranteed to stay there. "There is a daycare you can drop him off in during the day."

Arthur's ears reddened and his chest felt remarkably tight at the suggestion. He had been putting off returning to work for the last few days because he wanted to help Dougie adjust to Earth life, but he knew that he couldn't stay home with his son forever. He needed money, they needed money, and it would be selfish to keep ringing his parents for cash like an entitled teenager. 

(His parents weren't quite pleased with the situation either. In fact, they had been more than a bit cross when, after six months (or so they claimed) with no contact, Arthur had out of the blue rung them, told them he had a son and asked for a loan without making any mention of whether he would pay them back or when he would come by to introduce them to their new grandson. They had given him the money, but Arthur had a feeling he was the one who was ultimately going to pay.)

"I don't know," Arthur said at last. "I've never really left Dougie with someone else before."

"No time like the present," Richard shrugged indifferently. 

"I don't even know how he'll get on with other babies."

"He'll get on just fine," Jill said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Beep beep," Dougie said from between a mouthful of mashed carrots and Arthur blushed as he wiped the baby's orange stained lips.

"Call me crazy," Richard said at length as he leaned in to get a better look at Dougie's face, "but he looks like a friend of yours. That lanky fellow you used to pal around with. You know, the actor? What was his name again?"

"Fred?"

"Phil?"

"No, no it was a car's name!" Richard frowned thoughtfully as he mulled this over a moment. "I think it was Fo-"

"Let's not talk about him!" Arthur put in quickly, too quickly, and by then his face was so red he could positively see it when he looked down. "He and I... we had something of a falling out a few months ago. Really messy. Rather not talk about it."

His friends looked skeptical, but they allowed the topic to drop away before moving on to ordering more drinks.

\---

Arthur looked around the small, colorful room that he had never set foot in before. There was a mat in the shape of a jigsaw puzzle covering most of the floor and posters filled with cartoon characters decorating the otherwise dingy walls. There were a few windows, but they were small and coated with grim and gave the room a dull look. In the far corner was a boxy old television playing some sort of puppet show which a few toddlers were watching with wrapped interest. Just a few paces away from the television was another group of children busy playing with building blocks and soft, foam toys scattered around the matted floor. On the other end of the room were some small tables with tiny chairs set in front of cupboards and cabinets that were likely filled with more toys and baby related supplies.

Despite all the effort that had likely been put into making this room feel happy and child friendly it still had all the charm and warmth of a repurposed office space that was barely larger than a broom closet.

Arthur looked at the grubby toys and the germ coated children and the bored young woman standing in front of him with a rather impatient look on her face as she waited for him to make up his mind. Dougie squirmed in his arms, the way he often did when he wanted Arthur to put him down, and Arthur tightened his grip the way he always did when he didn't want to let go. 

"It... it isn't just you here, is it?" Arthur asked the girl who looked barely older than twenty and not at all qualified to be dealing with such a large number of children without her own set of supervision. "There's someone else here to lend a hand isn't there?"

"More workers usually come in a bit later in the day," she answered dully, yet automatically, a clear sign that this was a question she was asked quite often. "And Lavern's just 'round the corner getting coffee. She'll be back in a minute."

"A minute?" Arthur repeated skeptically. "A lot can happen in a minute."

"Yeah, one whole minute," she said mockingly as she rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. "It can only take one minute ta make someone late for work." 

"I already clocked in."

"Must've been a while ago. You've been standing here for at least half an hour."

Arthur frowned at her in a way he now did whenever he was reminded of all the unpleasant things that came along with the Earth's unexplained reappearance. "Just want to make sure he's alright," he said as reasonably as he could manage as he clutched the baby against his chest. Again Dougie squirmed and fussed and again Arthur ignored this. "He's not used to other children."

"What's to get used to? They're just babies."

"He doesn't like a lot of foods," Arthur went on even as the young woman managed to gently pry the fidgeting baby out of his arms and into her own boney grasp. "Only eats bananas and carrots really. Broccoli makes him sick, strawberries make him cry, and apples are just out of the question."

"Yes, you've told me," the girl said distantly as she placed Dougie down on the ground. He wobbled for a moment then toddled off towards the opposite end of the room to where the other children were playing with foam toys. "And you've already given me his diaper bag and snacks. We'll phone you if anything comes up, which it most likely won't."

Arthur watched Dougie for a moment as he approached the other children. They were all around his size, some perhaps a touch older, and he looked at them curiously for a moment, taking in for the first time the sight of other creatures that looked like him. Whatever wonder or curiosity he had felt lasted less than a minute as his eyes soon focused on the red and blue building blocks scattered across the foam floor. Dougie set himself down heavily and made a few soft beeps before setting about stacking the blocks into uneven towers along with the other children.

Arthur could honestly say he didn't quite know how to feel just then. On the one hand he was relieved to see that his son would likely get along just fine with the human children, but on the other hand he was more than a bit irritated that Dougie was adjusting to their first time apart so well. He hadn't even waited for Arthur to give him a proper goodbye before heading off!

_Well, that's children for you,_ he thought bitterly even as he stepped into the brightly colored room and crouched down beside his son. Dougie looked up at him neutrally as Arthur placed a firm kiss to the top of his head. "Have fun Dougie," Arthur said, tousling his hair affectionately. His eyes stung and his throat felt remarkably tight and Arthur attempted to remedy this by kissing him again. "Be good."

Dougie let out a soft "Da" as he waved his chubby little arm up at Arthur. He then turned back to his blocks and proceeded to ignore Arthur's existence. Arthur kissed him once more and then stood to head back towards the door.

"Right," he said to the girl who looked as if she were completely exhausted by his mere existence. "I'll be back at five."

"I'll be counting the minutes," she muttered.

Arthur frowned at her and then glanced back at Dougie, who had lost interest in his blocks and was now crawling towards the television, pushing aside a few other children who were unfortunate enough to get in his way. Arthur decided then that this would be the best time to leave as he walked out the door and down the hall, preparing himself for his first day of work in eight years.


	3. Chapter 3

_"When I said I wanted the Earth back, I should have said what year," Arthur muttered not for the first time as he stared miserably into the fire pit burning just a few feet in front of them. He was probably sitting closer to the flames than he should have, but it was quite cold that night -- not quite winter but just close enough to make his teeth chatter and his skin prickle -- and the only thought on his mind (aside from how much he missed the Earth) revolved around seeking as much warmth as possible._

_Ford frowned over at Arthur, clucking his tongue in disapproval as he gently nudged the man until he reluctantly scooted back a few inches from the pit of flames Ford had built for them. "Don't let your clothes catch on fire," Ford chided as he took off the towel he had been wearing wrapped around his shoulders and draped it across Arthur's lap. He would have put it on Arthur's back but there was already a ratty old one there and piling another one on top of it just seemed redundant. "Let's not talk about the Earth," Ford went on as he shuffled the deck of cards they had put together out of a few large leaves. "We talk about that every night."_

_"Well I'm sorry Ford, but it's kind of a big issue," Arthur huffed bitterly. Ford dealt them five cards each and Arthur frowned when he discovered that he had yet another bad hand. "And I don't think I'm up for cards either. Not when you're planning to cheat."_

_He was somewhat amused by the look of genuine offence that crossed Ford's face at that, but Ford didn't seem the least bit pleased. "Cheat? Who says I cheat?"_

_"You always cheat," he said flatly as he carefully laid down his leaves. "Let's play Scrabble."_

_"The pieces washed away in the rain, remember?"_

_"Oh right." Arthur frowned as he considered their options. There wasn't really much to do on a prehistoric Earth filled with sickly cavemen and dim bulb aliens. "I really should get to work on that chess board."_

_"You don't know how to place chess."_

_"Neither do you," he countered with a weak shrug. "Besides, learning would give us something else to occupy our time."_

_"Fine, let's cancel game night and watch some television instead." Ford grabbed the tattered remains of his satchel and tossed it against the stone wall of the cave. He flopped back against it in an exaggeratedly casual manner and stared fixatedly into the fire. Arthur actually found himself cracking a smile when Ford raised an arm, pointing at the flames and made a loud "click" sound._

_"Anything good on?" Arthur asked as he crawled closer to Ford's side, sharing warmth as they often did on nights like this._

_"No, just adverts."_

_"Shame. An imaginary television with nothing to watch."_

_The two chuckled softly as Arthur slumped down beside Ford and did his best to remember real television. He tried to imagine sitcoms and documentaries, old movies he had watched again and again, advertisements with annoying jingles, or even newscasts of the weather. The thoughts seemed blurry and frustratingly distant and a weight sat heavily against his chest at the idea that he was starting to forget his old life and his old home and that one day all his memories would fade away until he would no longer be able to describe how tea was supposed to be made._

_He felt like crying. Ford probably sensed this because he draped an arm across Arthur's shoulder and shifted until the two were pressed side by side. Arthur didn't think it was strange to lay with his friend like this, because after all this time sleeping side by side or back to back for warmth or for protection it just felt natural. Even when the hand on his shoulder tightened its grip and Ford's thumb began to caress the musty terrycloth fabric of his dressing gown, Arthur didn't think much on it. There wasn't much to think about anymore._

_"You know Arthur," Ford began, but if he finished that thought Arthur never heard it. He was already asleep._

\---

"Douglas Adam Dent, did you throw another shoe?"

Arthur frowned as he held the tiny foot in his hand, watching as the little toes wiggled in the air as if to emphasize just how bare they were. Over the past few weeks Arthur had begun to notice that Dougie didn't care for shoes or socks and tossed them off whenever Arthur wasn't looking. Arthur supposed that this was due in large part to Dougie having spent the first few years of his life running around Krikkit completely barefoot and the idea of stuffing his poor little feet into shoes and socks still didn't sit well with him. Even with that knowledge in mind Arthur still couldn't help but feel annoyed because those particular shoes had been bought especially for today and now they were likely lying in a heap of trash far away.

"Those were new," he reminded the boy tersely as he dropped Dougie's naked foot and began digging through his satchel in search of another pair. "And the third pair you tossed away this month!" His annoyance grew when Arthur found that he had forgotten to pack another set of shoes to go along with the spare socks in the bag. "Can't have you meeting your grandparents wearing miss matched socks," he sighed as pulled out the socks out of the bag and began unlacing Dougie's remaining shoe.

"Beep beep beep!" Dougie chirped, kicking his feet wildly in the air once both were bare and free from Arthur's grasp.

Arthur blushed as he scanned the barely occupied train station adjacent sandwich shop to see if anyone was currently staring at them. They weren't, but that didn't stop Arthur from feeling embarrassed. He had been dreading this day for some time, for all of the two months since his return, for this exact reason. He was supposed introduce Dougie to his parents -- because, understandably, they were getting fed up with the idea of sending money to a child they had yet to meet – but, as hard as it was for him to admit, if Arthur were completely honest with himself, he knew that deep down beneath the layers of unconditional love and devotion he was completely and utterly embarrassed by his son. He was embarrassed by the way Dougie spat out more food than he actually ate, how he was constantly removing his shoes and socks, played with towels more than any proper toys, screamed himself red at the sound of a telephone's ring, and the fact that he spoke mostly in beeps and boops. Well, that last part wasn't entirely true. Dougie did know how to say "dada" (a word he used less and less now) and "banana" (a word he likely learned just because it was fun to say), but that seemed to be the extent of his actual vocabulary.

The fact still remained that Dougie's quirky behavior put a great deal of pressure on him and Arthur felt certain that when his parents met Dougie they would likely decide that he was weird and that Arthur was a terrible father and somehow he simply couldn't take that. Having his friends think Dougie was weird or that Arthur was a bad father didn't bother him as much, because they were mainly work friends and he didn't really care for them that much. His parents, on the other hand, were a different matter because they were Dougie's grandparents and if anything should happen to Arthur they'd be the ones to take care of him, and wouldn't it be horrible to send his half-alien son off to live with people who didn't care for him.

His head throbbed and a part of him longed for a stiff drink, but it was too early in the morning for him to be setting such a poor example for his child. "Let's try using our words today," Arthur chided gently as he slipped the replacement socks onto Dougie's feet. "We practiced this, remember?" He leaned back and gave the faux-wooden table top a quick knock. "Table," he announced before grabbing the glass of water he had been sipping from. "Cup."

"Excuse me."

Arthur twisted around in his chair at the sound of the soft spoken voice from just over his shoulder. He looked up and saw a young woman. She was tallish and pale with dark wavy hair framing her somewhat serious face. She was smiling down at them politely and holding a small black shoe in the palm of her hand. He recognized her right away as the woman he had seen sleeping in the backseat of the car on his first night back on Earth and his heart instantly began to skip about in his chest.

"Excuse me," she said again, shifting the shoe from one hand to the other as she cautiously approached the table. "Sorry to interrupt, but I found this shoe by the door and I was wondering if it might belong to your son."

He smiled up at her, accepting the offered shoe as she placed it in his hand, and everything suddenly felt warm and right. Arthur had been meaning to look for her since he had last seen her that night, but he had been too preoccupied with Dougie and helping him to adjust to this new life. Yet here she was and the idea that the Universe had, for once, decided to deal him a fair hand made him feel positively dizzy. "Thank you," he said quite sincerely. "Thank you so much."

"Oh, it's no trouble," she said, somewhat startled by the overly affectionate tone in his voice. "I just saw the shoe and saw your pram-"

"Oh no, not the shoe," he laughed. "Thank you for calling him my son." She stared at him in open confusion and Arthur laughed again. "You see, most people, when they see him they assume I'm the sitter or waiting with him 'til his mum gets back."

"Oh," she said almost apologetically as her lips quirked with uncertain laughter. "Well then..."

She began to move away and Arthur felt himself panic. 

"Wait, er, Fenny, is it?" 

She stopped and stared at Arthur with a mixture of curiosity and almost displeasure at the sound of her own name. It wasn't quite the reaction he had hoped for, but at least she wasn't leaving. "How do you know my name?"

"Can I buy you a drink?" he asked ignoring her question and the part of his mind that was trying to remind him that it was still hardly past noon. "As a way of saying 'thank you,' that is."

Fenny looked reluctant for a moment and then smiled dryly at him. "Is this something your wife allows you to do? Chat up girls in sandwich shops by using your son as an ice breaker?"

Arthur gave an awkward chuckle. "Oh, I'm not married."

"Oh. Girlfriend then?"

"No. Just him and me."

"Oh." Fenny looked hesitant, yet intrigued, and he supposed that curiosity was enough to get her to pull out a seat and join him at the table. "I'm sorry to hear that. May I ask what happened?"

Arthur squirmed. This wasn't exactly where he wanted this conversation to be heading. "It didn't work out," he said simply, because he didn't know what else there was to say. The truth was far too complicated and Arthur was far too taken aback to come up with anything on the spot.

Fortunately for Arthur, Fenny seemed satisfied by this as she continued to sit with him. "Well, I am waiting for a train," she said at length. "I suppose I can have a drink or two before it gets here. You never did tell me how you know my name." She frowned. "You're not a friend of my brother's are you?"

"No," Arthur said quickly, perhaps too quickly, not that Fenny seemed to mind. "I met him once though," he explained. "You were sleeping in the back of his car when he gave me a lift home."

"Oh," she said, her face turning a pleasant shade of pink. "Well, if you don't mind, I'd rather you didn't call me 'Fenny.' Only my brother -- half-brother really -- ever calls me that and I don't really like it."

"Oh," he said and even though his face turned pink as well Arthur was certain it wasn't nearly as pleasant. "What should I call you then?"

"Fenchurch."

"Fenchurch?"

"Yes. Fenchurch," she said and everything about her told him not to ask including her lips. "And what's this handsome little lad's name?"

Arthur turned to Dougie who -- during the time the two had been chatting awkwardly and generally ignoring his existence -- had managed to pull off his remaining shoe, his socks, and most of the nappies from within Arthur's satchel. They were all scattered around the floor along with the bits of torn up paper that had once been their own train tickets. Arthur sighed the long, heavy sigh of a parent who was not at all surprised to see this sort of behavior from their child as he leaned over to pick up the mess. "Dougie," Arthur said as he stuffed the last diaper back into his bag. "This is Dougie."

"You're a funny little thing, aren't you Dougie?" Fenchurch cooed as she helped Arthur to piece together the bits of ticket paper. 

"Yes, funny," Arthur laughed sheepishly. "I hope his grandparents think so. We're on our way to see them and I think he's just as reluctant as I am."

"He hasn't met his grandparents?" Fenchurch asked and instantly seemed to regret doing so. "Sorry. It's not my place."

"No, its fine," he assured her. "It's complicated, but its fine."

"I see. I didn't catch your name."

"Oh. It's Arthur."

Fenchurch smiled. "It's nice to meet you Arthur. And Dougie." She looked down at her watch and her smile wavered. "It looks like I'll have to take that drink some other time. My train's leaving soon."

"Oh," Arthur said and never before had he felt quite so disappointed in his life. He felt as if some golden opportunity had landed in his lap and just as suddenly rolled away. "Oh, well... can I phone you, then?"

Her smile widened. "Why not?" she said as she pulled out a pen and jotting down a few numbers on to a nearby napkin. "You two seem like an interesting pair." She pushed the napkin with her number gently towards Arthur who smiled gratefully in return. "I'll be gone for a few days, but feel free to give me a call when I get back in. Or... when you get back. Whichever suits you. Take care Arthur. Take care Dougie."

"Banana!" Dougie answered, waving his hand politely as she walked out of the sandwich shop and towards the train station.

Arthur smiled as he watched her go feeling very pleased and confident in the world. A thought suddenly came to his mind as he gathered up their things and prepared to board their own train. It was a thought that made him feel light and wonderful and completely silly. He looked down at Dougie who was sitting silently inside of his buggy and Arthur chose to believe that they were both thinking the same thing.

"I agree son," Arthur said as he walked along with a skip in his step. "She would make a great mother for you."

\---

_By their second spring on prehistoric Earth Arthur began to notice that Ford was acting funny. Funnier really. He brought fresh flowers to the cave every afternoon and collected odd shaped rocks that he kept in a pile by the fire pit. He hummed when he fished and would often stared up at the stars at night, not in the usual longing manner but in a pleasant sort of calm. When Arthur asked him about the flowers or the rocks or the humming or the stars, Ford would always respond in the same way. "It's nice, isn't it?" he would say and then go back to whatever he had been doing before._

_It didn't take Arthur long to piece all this together and realize that Ford, in his own strange alien way, was in love and this horrified Arthur. He was tempted to ask Ford who he was in love with, but the answer horrified him even more. He could hope that Ford had met some nice Golgafrinchan girl who was two steps closer to sane than all the others or that he had become enamored with some cavewoman, but he knew better. Arthur already knew that the flowers and the rocks and the humming and the staring weren't meant for a Golgafrinchan girl or a cavewoman and the thought made him feel incredibly jittery and a bit ill._

_"Look Ford, we need to talk," Arthur said one afternoon. The two were trapped inside the cave thanks to a massive downpour that was starting to flood the inside of the hollowed out rock formation they had begun to call home. Ford was busy using the rocks he had collected to build a sort of barrier to keep the water out, but Arthur didn't think it would do much good. Arthur crouched down on a large flat boulder they often used as a chair and tried his best to look Ford in the eye. It was difficult because Ford wasn't looking at him and that was just fine with Arthur because this was embarrassing enough as it was. "We... we need to talk about this."_

_"About the flood?" Ford asked. He lifted his head and frowned out at the water sloshing about beneath the gray sky. "I think we're okay. This is probably the worst of it."_

_"That's good to hear, but I'm not talking about the flood."_

_"Well if you're worried about the fire," Ford said as he motioned towards the dying embers a few paces behind them, "then just keep feeding it dried leaves. It'll be fine."_

_"It's not the fire either!" Arthur huffed. He didn't know which was more irritating: the fact that Ford was intentionally dancing around the issue or this sudden burst of optimism. "Look, Ford, you know what I'm getting at. I know... I know that you have feelings for me. We need to talk about it."_

_Ford's laugh was short and almost sympathetic as he finished stacking the last of his rocks before sitting down and facing Arthur. "Really Arthur? It took you seven years to figure it out?"_

_"Look Ford, I'm flattered, really, but I just don't... did you say seven years?"_

_"I thought I was going to have to use those rocks and spell it out for you."_

_"Are you saying you've been in love with me for_ seven years _?"_

_"And now you're going to tell me that you don't see me that way, that you think I'm very nice but just not your type and you simply don't want to ruin our friendship."_

_"Is that why you saved me from the Vogons? Because you were in love with me?" Ford said nothing. He just sat there and smiled in a way that said he was proud of Arthur for finally making it this far. "W-why didn't you ever say anything before?"_

_"I didn't think it needed to be said," he shrugged. "Clearly I was wrong since you only picked up on it when I started making myself obvious."_

_Arthur frowned. His head was starting to hurt and the cave suddenly felt far smaller than usual. "Ford..."_

_"Arthur." Ford grabbed his hand in his and held it firmly, kindly as he lifted his gaze until he was looking Arthur directly in the eye. Arthur squirmed at the open and honest look on his friend's face, a look that he was not used to seeing on anyone, especially if it was being directed at him. His head was pounding by then. "Haven't I been good to you? Haven't I made things nice for us?"_

_"Ford," he tried again, "you don't seem to be getting this: I'm not gay!"_

_Ford rolled his eyes at him. "You humans," he chided. "You have to put a label on everything."_

_"It's not a label, Ford, it's my feelings! I just don't have_ those feelings _for men."_

_Ford shifted, dropping Arthur's hand just long enough for him to adjust himself into a kneeling position before grabbing the hand again. The same sense of tenderness and support could be felt in Ford's grasp and Arthur was beginning to realize that this had been a very bad idea. "Arthur I may not look it, but I can be patient," Ford told him. "You need time, I understand that. I know that I can't make you love me... Well actually I can. I know a technique that could do the trick, but that gets messy... anyway, the point is I can wait."_

_"Wait for what? For me to turn gay?"_

_Again Ford didn't say anything, he just kissed him and it wasn't firm and forceful the way Arthur would have expected, but soft and tender. Ford didn't pin him down and hold him in place, but had given Arthur every opportunity to stop him or pull away, but he didn't. Arthur told himself that it wasn't because it was Ford who was kissing him (although Ford was a good kisser) but because he hadn't been kissed in ages and kissing someone again felt normal._

_Ford pulled away and Arthur shuddered, feeling drained and confused and a touch dizzy._

_"The rain's stopping," Ford said, nodding towards the gray skies that were now simply dripping instead of pouring. "I'm going to go look for a few more rocks." Ford reached into his satchel and pulled on his hat, which didn't fit as well as it used to since his hair had grown out considerably, before stepping carefully over the little wall he had built and walked out of the cave._

\---

"He doesn't look like a Dent, does he?" Arthur frowned at his father who was currently studying Dougie the way one would an abstract painting. His father was frowning thoughtfully as he held the baby at arm's length high above his head before gently lowering him down to his lap. "He doesn't look much like you at all, Artie. Doesn't have your eyes, or your nose-"

"Or my color?" Arthur snapped, because he was sick and tired of everyone dancing around the issue that they wanted to pretend they were above noticing when really they were positively fixed on noticing it.

His father stared at him, positively horrified by the accusation in a way that said if Arthur weren't his son he would have turned him out right then and there. "I didn't say that!" he huffed defensively, before turning to Arthur's mother. "Did I say that, dear?"

"No, you didn't dear," Arthur's mother said staring at Arthur in a very stern and disapproving way. " _No body's_ saying that."

"No, but you certainly were thinking it," Arthur countered, too frustrated to even touch his tea. 

"Arthur Philip Dent, don't you dare go putting words in my mouth," she chided as she gently pried Dougie out of his father's arms and into her own warm embrace. "Of course we're not thinking that! This is the eighties after all. It's perfectly acceptable to have a black grandson."

"Perfectly acceptable," his father nodded as he took a biscuits off of a tray and offered it to Dougie.

"Half black," Arthur muttered, feeling a bit less tense at the sincerity in his parents' tone. "I am still his father. And he doesn't really like sweets Dad."

"Nonsense Artie, your mother bought these from the shop. Everybody likes them."

"Not Dougie, Dad. He doesn't like biscuits."

"Banana," Dougie announced as he grasped the little biscuit tightly in his hands. He gave the crumb coated surface an uncertain lick and didn't do anything else.

"Not 'banana' love!" Arthur's mother laughed as she bounced Dougie in her arms. "That's a shortbread biscuit. Can you say 'biscuit?' ' _Bis-cuit_?'"

"Buh," Dougie answered. "Bananana!"

"He likes bananas," Arthur explained with a shrug. "And carrots. That's all he eats really."

"My word!" she cried, positively aghast at the very idea. "No wonder he's so thin."

"That explains it."

"Well what am I supposed to do?" Arthur sighed. "He spits out everything else and most foods make him sick or... or cry."

"He likes the biscuit," his father noted as they watched the way Dougie was taking hesitant bites from the sweet and Arthur was surprised to see that hardly any of it was being spat back up. 

"You need to start teaching him to eat more foods," his mother noted as she ran a soothing hand over Dougie's head. "A growing boy needs more than just carrots and bananas." She gave a low, thoughtful hum. "Maybe you should leave him here for a few days. Just until I can put a bit of meat on his bones that is."

"No." Arthur felt head spinning at the very idea of leaving Dougie here, so far away and out of sight. It had been hard enough these past few months leaving him in the station daycare during work (which he had a tendency to pop into every hour just to make certain Dougie wasn't hurt or sick) Arthur couldn't begin to imagine what it would be like having Dougie a whole train ride away. The thought of being unable to see Dougie first thing in the morning or not putting him to bed at night made his stomach jump and his skin prickled at the thought of not hearing his voice or being unable to wipe his nose or kiss away his tears. It was a horrible lonely thought that made his chest tighten and burn and he suddenly needed very much to hold his son against him. Arthur stood and grabbed Dougie in order to do just that. "No. No, I don't think that would be a good idea. No."

His parents shared a look, one that said that they knew exactly what Arthur was feeling because they had been in his place before. Arthur doubted they could even imagine how he felt, because they had never experienced what it was like to raise a half alien baby.

"Well at least let me teach you a few things about feeding him properly," Arthur's mother insisted. "I'll even pack some more of these biscuits since he seems to enjoy them so much. And would it be so terrible for us to have some pictures? My first grandson comes to see me and I don't even get any pictures!"

Arthur flushed, feeling positively awful. "Yes, well, I don't really have any pictures."

"No pictures?" his mother looked positively sick with horror at the very notion that not one picture had been taken of her grandson in all this time. "As old as he is and no pictures? Arthur, really!"

"Just how old is the lad?" his father asked.

"He's three," Arthur found himself saying and then realized his mistake when his parents started to stare at him as if he had suddenly grown a second head. "Three... errr... teen. Thirteen. Thirteen months!"

"Thirteen months?" his mother repeated. Arthur nodded. She frowned thoughtfully at that. "Thirteen months and no pictures. Think of all the time that's gone by! He won't be this age forever, Arthur. Time flies by quite quickly when it comes to babies."

Arthur nodded hollowly, because as far as he knew time didn't seem to affect Dougie the way it did most babies. 

His mother got up from her seat and wandered into the kitchen, continuing to chatter about all the things they would need pictures of and all the foods she would fix for them and how, before Arthur left, she was going to make absolutely certain he knew how to properly take care of her grandson. Arthur decided to stop listening when she started talking about boiling this and soaking that, choosing instead to sit back down on the couch beside his father who was thoughtfully sipping his own tea.

"What you really need Artie," his father said after a while, "is a girl."

"A girl?"

"A girl."

Arthur frowned down at Dougie who had finished his biscuit and was licking the crumbs from his fingers. Arthur reached over and grabbed another one for him. "I don't know about that Dad," he said doubtfully. "I've got my hands full enough as it is with just Dougie here. I don't think having another baby would make things any easier."

"Not like that," Arthur's father said with a roll of his eyes. "I mean a woman! A wife. The boy needs a mother and you need help managing him. Soon as you can, get yourself a wife."

"Yes, well, I am working on that Dad."


	4. Chapter 4

"Banana."

"No Dougie," Fenchurch chided gently from her place on the floor. She held the small purple fruit closer to Dougie, allowing him to get a better look at it and encouraging him to touch it. "Not a banana. A plum. Can you say 'plum?' 'Puh-luh-ummmmm?'"

Dougie grabbed the plum, squeezing it in his hands before pressing it to his lips. "Buh-nah-naaaah."

Fenchurch laughed and Arthur grinned from his place in the kitchen as he went to work fixing them some tea. Watching Fenchurch play with Dougie had become one of his favorite things to do. Everything always seemed warm and right when Fenchurch was around and seeing how naturally sweet and tender she was with the boy made his whole world feel solid and he hoped that Fenchurch felt the same way. Dougie certainly had taken to her. He always offered her a towel or a banana whenever she stopped by and Arthur chose to take that as a good sign.

"Now Dougie," Arthur chided gently as he assembled a plate of snacks for them, "you'll never get into Cambridge with that attitude."

"It's a bit early to be picking out schools, don't you think?" Fenchurch teased as she traded Dougie's plum for something easier. "Towel," she said, holding up the blue and white striped towel that Dougie had given her when she walked in the door. "Can you say 'towel,' Dougie?"

"Bah," Dougie answered. "Da-buh-dah!"

"Well it's never too early," Arthur insisted as he brought the tray of tea and snacks into the living room, "to plan out your child's future."

"Do you plan on letting him move out when he goes to uni?" Fenchurch said holding the towel to Dougie and playfully pretending to wipe something off of his cheek. "Towel."

Arthur laughed as he eased himself onto the floor. They sat on the floor quite often now, because Fenchurch liked to be eye level with Dougie and Arthur liked to think that all of Fenchurch's ideas were brilliant. "Of course he'll move," he laughed, "but then I'll have to move with him."

"You'll what?"

"I'll probably be nearly retired by then," Arthur went on as he fixed himself a cup. "So it won't be too much trouble."

"So you'll uproot your whole life just for him?"

"Of course I will," Arthur said with a natural shrug. "That's what you do as a parent."

"Not really," Fenchurch said as she pulled Dougie into her lap. "I mean, yes, but... well most parents... they would rather the son move out on his own by then." She draped the towel over Dougie's face and quickly pulled it right back off, a move that made the boy erupt into a fit of giggles. "Towel!"

"Well, Dougie and I have a bond, you see," Arthur explained as he began fixing a cup for Fenchurch, because by now he knew how she liked her tea. "We've always been together."

"Well, not always," Fenchurch countered. "Not for the first few months, right?"

Arthur was about to argue with that, but stopped himself when he remembered the lie he had told Fenchurch and his work friends and his parents about finding Dougie in a basket on his door steps. He blushed and then cleared his throat and handed Fenchurch her tea. "Right. That's right."

She looked at him then, sadly and thoughtfully and not bothering to drink her tea. "I understand," she said after a pause during which Dougie had taken the towel from her hands and began suckling on it fiercely. "I understand why you want to be with him. You feel guilty don't you? Guilty about missing so much. I can understand that."

"I'm sure," he said, because he was certain Fenchurch could sympathize with that sort of guilt even if that wasn't what he was feeling. The truth was he had been with Dougie since the beginning and he simply couldn't stand the thought of not being with Dougie, because Dougie was a miracle. Having seen what he had seen and experienced what he had experienced Arthur already knew that there were no miracles, that everything could be explained even if the explanation seemed downright ridiculous, but Dougie was a miracle if he had ever witnessed one, a greater miracle than even this new and unexpected Earth and Arthur felt it was his duty to protect that miracle with all his might.

Fenchurch was still staring at him, her gaze never flickering or changing even as she leaned forward and pressed her hand against Arthur's arm. "Arthur," she began tenderly. "There's something I've been meaning to say. Something... I'm not quite certain you'll want to hear."

Arthur felt his heart tingle and burn and melt in the center of his chest in a sudden flurry of panic. The idea that this was somehow the end entered his mind and Arthur didn't know how or why they had gotten there so suddenly. "Is it..." he asked hesitantly, almost frightened as he put down his cup and saucer in order to give Fenchurch his full attention. "Is it about us?"

"No," she said and Arthur suddenly felt a great weight lifting itself off of his shoulders as he let go of the breath of air he had unconsciously been holding. "It's about Dougie."

"About Dougie?" His first instinct was to grab Dougie and press him against his chest, which he did much to the baby's dismay. He instantly disliked wherever this was going. "What about Dougie? What's wrong with Dougie?"

The hand that had been on his arm moved to his cheek, where it sat warm and gentle against his now clammy skin. "I'm only saying this because, well, I've known you two for quite some time now and frankly I've come to love Dougie. He's a wonderful boy, gentle and dear and absolutely amazing."

Arthur was liking this less and less, because he knew from his years of experience with dating the more wonderful you were the more likely whatever was about to be said about you would be absolutely devastating. He pressed a hand to Dougie's cheek, kissed the top of his head, and pressed him against his chest in a manner that left one ear covered by his shirt and the other by Arthur's palm. "But?"

"But," Fenchurch went on, "in the three months that I've known you he... he hasn't aged. He hasn't gotten a bit bigger, his motor skills haven't advanced, and his vocabulary... he still only says 'banana,' 'dada', and 'beep beep.'" She fell silent for a moment, most likely mistaking the way his face had gone positively pale for fear as opposed to dread. "I'm not saying this to upset you," she assured him. "I'm just saying this, because, well, if Dougie needs to see a doctor then it's better we do it sooner rather than later."

His grip on Dougie relaxed and the baby -- who had been a baby for well over three years now -- took the opportunity to gather his towel and crawl away. He suddenly felt at a loss, because it was now he realized that yet another complication had come his way and the perfect wonderful life that he had promised Dougie had already found a major flaw in Dougie himself. 

He knew instantly what he should do, that he should find a new lie to cover their tracks, but he couldn't. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to lie to Fenchurch anymore; because she was beautiful and brilliant and he loved and respected her too much to keep lying to her, especially when she would likely see through how ridiculous his new lie was anyway.

"Dougie," he said at last, his voice low and tired as he fought against the idea of not saying what he was going to say, "isn't normal."

"Oh Arthur no!" Fenchurch gasped and another hand landed gently on his bare cheek. "Don't say that! He just needs to see a doctor. You'll see. We'll take him to a doctor and he'll find some sort of medication to fix him."

Arthur smiled at Fenchurch and the way she kept saying "we" and he hoped that there would still be a "we" after she heard what he was about to say. "He doesn't need a doctor. He's always been this way. He was unusual since the day he was conceived. He had an unusual birth and he'll have an unusual life no matter how hard I try to make sure otherwise. He's not normal and he's not human. Not completely."

\---

_"Do you ever think about the future Arthur?"_

_Arthur looked at Trillian, puzzled by the sudden question. He had been asked this question before, usually by the women he had been going with just moments before they were about to dump him. Obviously this wasn't something he wouldn't have to worry about with Trillian, but his past experience was still enough to make him panic a bit._

_He turned his gaze away from her and out the window, staring at the stars and planets passing in front of the Heart of Gold as they drifted idly in the blackness of space. "I did once," Arthur shrugged. "When there was a future to think of."_

_It was Trillian's turn to look at him then, a chiding gleam in her eyes as her lips quirked up ever so slightly and not for the first time Arthur couldn't help but think about how absolutely beautiful she was. Trillian was all thick dark hair, wide dark eyes, and lovely dark skin. Her lips were so wonderfully full and soft (he assumed they were soft) and they seemed to draw you in whenever they were quirked into a wry smile as they often were. Arthur wished that Trillian would smile at him more, and not just in a teasing or wry manner, but sincerely or gently._

_Arthur always felt so lonely when Trillian was around and he didn't know if it was because she was the only other human he would ever see again or if it was because she was another in a long list of women that he could have had if he hadn't failed so miserably._

_"There's_ always _a future to think of, Arthur!" Trillian told him. She batted his arm playfully before leaning against the wall in a way that made her hip jut out just so. He was suddenly reminded of just how long it had been since he had last touched a woman._

_"Not for me," Arthur sighed. "Not since the Earth blew up."_

_Trillian was quiet for a moment. She always grew still and quiet whenever Arthur mentioned the Earth and it was the one and only sign that its absence bothered her at all. "The Earth may be gone, but you're still here. You've still got a future ahead of you, a more exciting one at least."_

_Arthur said nothing to that, because he felt there was nothing to say. He didn't want excitement, he wanted stability. He wanted tea, he wanted the Earth, and he wanted to wake up knowing precisely where he was in the Universe. He didn't think anything short of that would ever make him happy again._

_"Besides," Trillian went on, oblivious to Arthur's discomfort, "you've still got Ford."_

_"Ford!?" he squeaked. His face turned red and his eyes widened in a way that said he knew exactly what she was talking about even if he didn't want to know what she was getting at._

_"You two have become pretty close, huh?" She waggled her eyebrows at him in a manner he had never seen preformed by a woman. "I'm sure he'll be good company."_

_"We're not like that!" Arthur insisted even though he knew it was a lie._

_Everything had changed on the prehistoric Earth, because Ford's kiss had planted a seed in Arthur's mind, one that had grown too large and too fast and soon there was something inside Arthur that he absolutely could not ignore. Before that spring could even come to a proper end Arthur and Ford had been together more times than he could count. And it hadn't ended there._

_They were quiet about it, because Arthur simply wasn't the type to be open about this sort of thing, but there was hardly a synthetic night aboard the Heart of Gold that didn't find Ford guiding Arthur into his room, or sneaking in to share a shower, or with the two of them lying in bed side by side sharing heat because they had grown so used to doing just that. Arthur wanted dearly to deny the painfully obvious fact that he didn't hate this situation at all, to be able to say he disliked the way Ford stroked the back of neck late at night or that it bothered him when he still found oddly shaped rocks scattered across the floor, but it would all be a lie._

_"Okay," Trillian said sarcastically with an exaggerated shrug. "You're not like that. My mistake." She walked over to the console and pressed a few buttons and the window they had been gazing out of soon became solid wall once more._

_Later than night Ford would ask Arthur about the future as well, and Arthur, in a panic, would close his eyes and pretend to be asleep_

\---

When Ford returned to Earth the first thing he did was purchase a bouquet of flowers. He didn't know which kind to buy because he had never bothered to ask Arthur what type he liked and the ones he used to bring him had long since gone extent. Roses seemed too formal and recalled that lilies were supposed to mean death or the like. After a few minutes of debate, he settled for daffodils (because... why not?) and then moved on to gather some rocks. When the bottom of his satchel was lined with smooth and pointy rocks Ford went about making his way to where Arthur's house used to be. 

Ford remembered that the day the Earth was being destroyed was the same day that Arthur's house had been demolished, but he simply couldn't recall just why that was. He didn't expect the house to be there, but he did expect Arthur to have been by at some point and that someone there would be able to point him the rest of the way.

He made his way there and felt light and excited and happy when he saw that the house was there and that it appeared to have been in good condition. This made things infinitely simpler and made Ford infinitely happier as he eagerly knocked on the door and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And rang the bell. And waited.

And waited.

When the sun had disappeared from the sky, Ford had decided he was tired of waiting and simply went in.

\---

"Is he still asleep?"

Fenchurch twisted around in her seat and smiled as she glanced behind her. "Still asleep," she confirmed before turning back around and brushing a twig out of her hair. Her clothes were wrinkled, grass stained, and a bit torn, and her hair looked as if it had gone through a small tornado. Arthur imagined that he didn't look much better. "Do you think we should teach Dougie to fly?"

Arthur's instant response was to laugh dismissively. "Not a chance," he said. "Far too dangerous."

"Well not while he's little!" Fenchurch countered as she plucked a leaf from behind Arthur's ear. He smiled in thanks. "When he gets a bit older. We could put him in a helmet and some pads until he's had enough practice."

"Quite a few pads."

She flicked the leaf at him. "You," she said pointing a finger playfully at his cheek, "are over protective."

"Well if overprotective means reluctant to see my son get a concussion..." He stopped what he was saying when, without pulling his eyes fully off of the road, he noticed that Fenchurch was currently giving him a very skeptical look. "Well you try having a half alien baby in the emptiness of space and not coming away from the experience the least bit overprotective!"

Fenchurch looked at him for another second before shrugging her shoulders and folding her hands peacefully in her lap. "I suppose I'll just take your word for it."

They drove on in silence. The road ahead had grown dark and empty and Arthur soon found himself flicking on the headlights along with the radio. Peaceful music filled the small car, drowning out the gentle ins and outs of Dougie's breathing or the soft rattling from within their half empty picnic basket. They had, perhaps, spent a bit too much time out in the sun, but it had been one of those rare days when everything was perfect and they had found the perfect place to have lunch before he and Fenchurch went off and had a perfectly lovely time flying about over the field.

Arthur smiled, his heart expanding with pleasure at the knowledge that he had finally come to a place where he could describe his life as perfect, because everything was perfect. He had Dougie, he had Fenchurch, and he had the Earth and a real solid future in front of him. Yes, life was perfect.

"Look at the stars, Arthur," Fenchurch practically swooned as she slumped further to her side, her forehead pressed firmly against the cool glass. "They must be so beautiful up close. I envy you. Getting to explore them the way you did."

He stiffened at that comment, because he remembered that things weren't completely perfect, not with Fenchurch constantly bringing up the stars and space and the guide book he had accidentally dropped in the back of her brother's car.

"My life is earthbound now, Fenchurch," he had told her the first time she had brought up the idea of seeing other planets. "There's nothing left out there for me."

Fenchurch hadn't said anything, but neither did she seem content with that answer as she looked at him in a way that said that she wouldn't be satisfied until she found the answers to the questions still circling her mind, answers that she felt certain could not be found here on this second Earth. Arthur didn't like remembering that look and could only hope that someday he would be able to change her mind.

"Arthur," Fenchurch was saying, but Arthur was pointedly ignoring her, because he didn't want to engage in another conversation about space. Ignoring her didn't work as Fenchurch soon began grabbing at his arm, nearly clawing his sleeve apart in a frantic manner and he knew then something was wrong. "Arthur look! The lights! The house!"

He looked just down the road to his house peaking over the horizon and saw what Fenchurch was trying to say. The lights were on inside -- one light at least that seemed to be flickering in a colorful pattern -- and the door, which he absolutely remembered locking, was hanging open. 

In the backseat, Dougie began to whimper in his sleep and Arthur felt Fenchurch's hand slip into his own as he pulled up along the gate. "Let's get out of here," Fenchurch suggested. "We'll go to the neighbors and ring the police there."

"No," Arthur said as he switched the engine off. He took a moment to twist around to look at Dougie who was now wide awake and turning red with tears. He gave the baby's cheek a few soothing strokes before turning his attention back to Fenchurch. "I'm going to go see what's going on. If you hear any strange noises or... or I don't come out in two minutes then take Dougie and go."

Fenchurch looked at him in a way that made it very clearly that she thought this was a very stupid plan. "Arthur no," she pleaded, but he cut her off with a firm kiss.

"Two minutes," he said again before hopping out of the car and gently pushing the door shut behind him. 

He walked up to the house, careful to push the gate slowly so as not to make it creak, stepping as quickly and lightly as he could manage. Arthur suddenly wished that he had a club or a bolder of some sort to defend himself with, but there wasn't much use in looking for one when he was already at the door. He peeked around the corner and saw nothing except a few tiny rocks scattered along the floor and the colorful lights flickering along the walls. The sound of cultured voices accompanied by dramatic music greeted his ears and Arthur suddenly realized that whoever had broken in was currently watching his television.

Puzzled, he gently pushed the door open, crouching down low so as to avoid being seen for as long as possible. Again he eased himself around the corner and glanced into the kitchen where he saw that most of his cupboards had been opened, but not emptied and a few used dishes, which had not been there before, were sitting on the counter. He frowned at this and then turned around stepping closer to the living room. Sure enough he saw that his television was on, playing a movie that he was far too startled to recognize to an empty sofa. 

For a moment he wondered if this had all been a mistake, if he had simply been in such a daze that morning that he had forgotten to turn off the television or clean the kitchen before stepping out the door, and while that did sound like something he would do, it didn't quite explain the rocks on the floor or the bouquet of yellow flowers resting on the coffee table.

"Daffodils," he said to himself as he bent over to search for a card of some kind attached to the bouquet.

"Arthur?"

He jumped at the sound of the familiar voice and, against his better judgment, instantly spun around only to find himself engulfed in a firm hug from a man he had not seen in over four years. "Ford!" he squeaked as the man from Betelgeuse continued to squeeze and spin him about in his grasp. "Ford what-"

His question was instantly cut off when Ford stopped spinning him and instead cupped his face and kissed him. This kiss, the first they had shared in years, was firm and filled with a deep longing that made Arthur's knees quake and his head unable to hold onto any thought beyond those surrounding how good of a kisser Ford still was.

"Ford," he managed to gasp once his lips were free. "What... what are you doing here?"

Ford smiled at him. "I came as soon as I found out the Earth was back."

"It's... it's been back for six months!"

"Yeah, well it takes a while," he shrugged before taking a step back. "Hey, I brought you a present!" He walked over towards the coffee table and grabbed the flowers, offering them to Arthur.

Arthur looked to the flowers that were beginning to wilt from lack of water then to Ford who was clearly expecting Arthur to say something. For a moment, Arthur felt sorry for Ford, because he had traveled a long way and was in for a very nasty surprise. The moment passed when Arthur remembered that Ford had abandoned him four years ago and he had therefore brought all this on himself.

"Listen Ford," Arthur began, but he didn't get much further, because the sound of Dougie crying had reached his ears, a sound that was growing louder and louder much to Arthur's dismay.

He turned around just as Fenchurch began pushing her way inside the house. "Arthur?" Fenchurch called, her voice barely heard above Dougie's shrieking wails. She was bouncing the baby in her arms and rubbing his back in soothing circles. None of that seemed to help as he continued to cry at her side. "Is everything alright?"

"Fenchurch," he practically groaned as he hurried to her side. "I told you not to come in."

"No, you told me to drive off if I heard anything strange-"

"Or I didn't come back out."

"-and I didn't hear anything." Fenchurch looked over at Ford, who had already decided to flick on a few lights and turn off the television. "Who is this? Is this the burglar?"

"No," Arthur sighed as he gently lifted the baby out of Fenchurch's arms. "No he's not."

"Who is she?" Ford asked as he stepped closer towards the three of them, a move that only caused Dougie to cry harder. Ford looked at Fenchurch then Dougie then Arthur and frowned. "Arthur... did you get married?"

"Arthur is he a friend of yours?" Fenchurch asked. She was practically shouting by now in order to be heard over Dougie's screams. "Is he... is he a space friend?"

Arthur didn't know what to say or do, because he suddenly felt as if he were trapped firmly in the middle of everything and he wished very dearly that he could simply disappear into the back of the house and take care of Dougie. "Fenchurch," Arthur began wearily as he continued to bounce and pat and rub Dougie in his arms. "This is Ford. Ford Prefect. He's the man I was telling you about. Ford, this is Fenchurch. She's my girlfriend."

"He's Dougie's...?"

"She's your...?"

"Yes," Arthur said firmly. "Yes he is. Yes she is. Now if you'll both excuse me, I have to see to the baby."

He didn't bother to wait for either of them to respond as he carried Dougie upstairs to his bedroom. Once inside he shut the door and felt himself beginning to panic. He could feel the sweat pouring down his face like trails of fire and his chest seemed to constrict painfully. If he didn't know better, Arthur would have said he was having a heart attack and even though he knew that wasn't the case, he still suddenly felt as if his world was spinning out of control.

"It's okay," Arthur said and he wasn't certain if he were speaking to himself or Dougie. "It's okay. Everything's going to be okay."

Arthur went into the bathroom and grabbed a towel and wrapped it around Dougie's little body. He then walked over to the bed and sat down, cradling the towel wrapped baby against his chest. He rocked them back and forth, humming the cereal jingle that had been Dougie's lullaby for years. It took some time, but eventually the tears stopped flowing and his wailing sobs slowly settled into steady whimpers before he finally drifted to sleep in Arthur's arms.

"It's okay," he whispered into Dougie's hair as he wiped the tears from his cheeks. "It's going to be okay. We're going to be okay." Arthur continued to rock Dougie back and forth long after the baby's even breathe became apparent, because his own heart was still pounding and he wasn't looking forward to facing Fenchurch and Ford. "What am I supposed to do?" he whispered to the room. "What should I say?"

Reluctantly, Arthur got off the bed and carried Dougie over to his crib. He placed a few quick kisses to his head before gently putting Dougie to bed with the towel still wrapped firmly around his frame.

"Okay," Arthur whispered to himself after taking several long, deep breathes. "Okay. I can do this."

He walked out of his bedroom and downstairs into the living room where he found Ford and Fenchurch sitting on the couch watching a movie with a bowl of freshly popped popcorn between them. The flowers had been placed in water and the rocks at the door had been gathered into a small bowl. The kitchen cupboards were closed and the dishes were put away. Things seemed to have taken care of themselves quite nicely while Arthur had been trying to piece himself back together. For a moment, Arthur could only stare at the bizarre scene in wonder, but the moment didn't last long as the sight was interrupted by the sound of the floorboards squeaking under Arthur's weight.

"Oh, you're back," Ford said when he looked over at Arthur.

Fenchurch grabbed the remote off the coffee table and pressed pause and it was only then that Arthur realized they had been watching a tape. "Is Dougie okay?" she asked.

Arthur nodded. "Yeah," he said awkward. "Yes, he's fine. I, uh, I just put him to bed."

"That's good," Fenchurch smiled as she began gathering her things. "I should get going then. You two have a lot to discuss."

"Fenchurch," Arthur frowned as he watched her walk towards the door. "Let me explain."

"You don't have to explain, Arthur."

"Well let me walk you to your car then."

He was relieved when she did and again Arthur felt as if his head were scrambling as the two of them stepped outside. "Fenchurch, listen," Arthur said, barely able to hear himself over the frantic pounding in his chest. "I didn't... I wasn't expecting to see Ford here. Ever."

"I know," she said softly as they walked towards her car parked on the other side of the lawn.

"And, well, just because he's here... it doesn't change anything between us. You and I that is."

"I know."

"Because I don't want Ford. I want you. I _love_ you."

"I know."

"Well, if you know all that then why are you leaving?"

Fenchurch stopped just at her door, turned to him and frowned sadly. "Because he wants you back," she told him. "He brought you flowers and rocks just like he used to. He wants you and... and you had a baby with him. Those are big issues that you need to discuss with him. I shouldn't be here for all that. "

He grabbed her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. "I love you, Fenchurch, I mean it," he said and what he really meant was "Please don't leave me alone with him, because if he kisses me again then I just don't know what I might do!"

She leaned forward and kissed him on the lips, quick and light and gentle, before taking a step back. "I'll be back in the morning to check up on you," she promised. "Don't run off to space without me."

"I wouldn't!"

He watched her get into her car and pull onto the road. He stood by the gate, gazing at the lights as they disappeared over the horizon and when at last they were gone he reluctantly stepped back inside. When he re-entered the living room he saw that Ford had restarted the tape which was now just about to end. It was only thenthat he realized that Ford had been watching _Casablanca_ this whole time.

"I've never seen this to the end," Ford told him as Arthur stood by the edge of the sofa staring at the television. He moved the bowl of popcorn off of the couch and onto his lap as a silent gesture for Arthur to take a seat. "Nazis," he said in a mix of intrigue and confusion before briefly glancing in Arthur's direction. "Did this really happen?"

"Uh, something like it," he said before reluctantly taking a seat on the opposite end of the sofa. They watched as Rick talked Isla into boarding the plane in tense silence as Arthur scrambled to think of just what he was going to say to Ford. He realized then that Fenchurch had been right, there was quite a bit for them to talk about and the idea of discussing any of it suddenly made Arthur feel very tired.

"So," Ford said after the movie's ending had passed on without Arthur's notice. "Your girlfriend seems nice."

"She is nice," he said automatically.

"Do you love her?" Ford asked.

"Very much," he said and suddenly realized that he was a heartless prat to say it so automatically in front of Ford of all people. "I'm sorry Ford," he tried again, "but we haven't seen each other in years and, well, we weren't an actual couple back then."

Ford turned and stared at him in a way that clearly said that this was the first time he was hearing about this and again Arthur felt like something of a prat. "Weren't a couple?" Ford laughed. "Arthur... I told you I was in love with you!"

Now it was Arthur's turn to let out an indignant laugh as he turned to stare at Ford. "Oh, yes, you loved me so very much that you just left me alone on Krikket. Yes, very loving."

"What?" Ford sputtered and this was the very first time that Arthur had ever seen him sputter. "Y-you... _you're_ the one that wanted to go! _You_ left _me_!"

"I didn't leave you!"

"Yes you did! You came up to me and said 'Ford, space is too fun and I'm too boring, so I'm leaving you forever. Bye.'"

"First of all, I did _not_ say that," Arthur countered irritably, because he was still sick of everyone calling him dull and boring. "Second, didn't you think for a moment that maybe when I _did_ tell you I wanted to leave that I may have wanted _you_ to come with me?"

"What?" Ford sputtered once again. "You never said that."

"No, I didn't say it _specifically_ , but I gave you every opportunity to come with me! I even asked you what planet I should settle on, but -- oh no! -- you didn't get the clue! You just kept avoiding me and giving me the silent treatment."

"My heart was broken!" Ford shouted throwing his arms up in a manner that caused the bowl of popcorn to fall off of his lap. "And how is it fair that you yell at me for not getting your cryptic messages, but it's perfectly fine for you to not notice that I was in love with you for almost seven whole years!"

Arthur flushed, lost and completely stuck, because in that moment all he could think to do was walk away and that wouldn't do much good since they were currently in his house. "Well... well clearly you're the quicker one with this sort of thing."

"Clearly."

Arthur had more, but suddenly it all sounded feeble and useless and instead he decided to change his tactics. "Well, if you were so broken up about all this... why didn't you come after me sooner? I mean... four years?"

He watched as Ford did the one thing that Arthur absolutely wasn't expecting him to do; he yanked his cap off of his head and began to blush sheepishly. Arthur reasoned that he should take this as a small victory, but seeing Ford look so uncomfortable just made him feel uneasy and oddly guilty. "Well, I guess it was for the best I didn't," he said at length. "I mean, you have a family now. A cute family. You, your girlfriend, and your kid..."

In the pit of his chest, Arthur felt his heart thump and bump and jitter about inside of him at the mention of Dougie and he realized that now would be the best time to tell Ford the truth. "Ford," Arthur began as calmly as he could manage as he twisted himself around in order to get a better look at Ford. Ford was not looking at him; he was instead focusing on picking up the bits of popcorn that had scattered around and putting them back in the bowl. "Ford, you don't think Fenchurch is the mother of my son, do you?"

Ford glanced at him dully before returning to his task of picking up popcorn. "Uh, yeah."

"Ford, the Earth has only been back for six months."

"Okay."

"And Fenchurch is from Earth. I met her here."

"I figured as much."

Arthur felt a twinge in the back of his eyes, one that told him that, despite spending fifteen years on this planet doing research about the native life forms, Ford didn't seem to have a very good grasp on basic human biology. Not that basic human biology would have helped much given the circumstances. "Ford," he tried again. "Did you notice anything about my son? Anything... strange?"

"He's cute if that's what you mean."

It wasn't what Arthur meant and he was starting to wonder if Ford was pulling a trick from Zaphod's book and playing dumb just for the sake of it.

"Ford what color was my baby?"

Ford popped a few kernels of popcorn into his mouth, but didn't answer.

"What color are Fenchurch and I?"

Ford opened his mouth to speak, then quickly closed it and frowned at Arthur the way Arthur likely would have frowned at someone who had asked him such a question. "Okay Arthur, clearly you have something to tell me here, so why don't you just say it?"

He took the bowl of popcorn away from Ford and placed it on the table. Arthur swallowed. Ford stared. "Dougie isn't Fenchurch's baby," he said at last. "He's our baby. Yours and mine."

For a moment Ford merely stared at Arthur his brow furrowed and his mouth hanging slightly ajar as if he were just about to say something. His mouth closed. His mouth opened. He made a strange sound that Arthur had never heard before and never wanted to hear again before finally saying. "My baby?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes. Our baby."

Ford stood suddenly, looking around the living room frantically as if he were searching for something very important that had just disappeared into thin air. "I have to see him!" he shouted, his nervous twitching coming to a sudden end when his eyes landed on the stairs. "I have to see him!"

"Ford no!" Arthur whispered sharply as he jumped up to grab Ford's wrist. "He's asleep."

"He's my _son_!" Ford shouted and then suddenly collapsed back onto the couch. The color seemed to drain from his face as he stared wide eyed off into the distance. "My son. My _son_! I have a son. I'm a..." He turned to look at Arthur then with a gaze that was painfully sad and confused. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was angry!" Arthur said instantly, knowing right away that it wasn't a very good excuse. "And confused. And I didn't know how to find you... I didn't think you wanted me to find you." He sank back down on the couch next to Ford too ashamed and tired to look him in the eye. "I'm sorry Ford. He's beautiful and sweet and he looks just like you." He smiled sadly at this. "Everybody thinks so."

Ford nodded as he took it all in. "How old is he?"

"Three and a half," he confessed.

"He's three?" Ford echoed. "But it's been four years since..."

"Improbability Drive," Arthur shrugged, because even after all this time it still didn't make much sense to him. "He must have been conceived during one of the times we were intimate while it was in use." He laughed awkwardly. "I was pregnant for a whole year and didn't realize it."

"That's rough," Ford said. "But also good. I guess."

Arthur nodded.

Ford reached out and touched his hand in a surprisingly gentle manner that forced Arthur to look up at him in spite of his better judgment. "Can I see him, Arthur? I... I need to see him."

Arthur gave a reluctant sigh. He owed Ford this much. "You'll have to be quiet," he said as he got up and motioned for Ford to follow along. Ford did as he was told, climbing the stairs with a remarkable amount of calm and restraint given the circumstances.

When they reached the top of the stairs Arthur twisted the knob to the door in a painfully slow manner before gently pushing his way inside the room. Anything could wake up Dougie -- the light from the hall, the static from the television, their breathing -- and Arthur didn't want to have to spend hours soothing him back to sleep. When the door was finally open all the way, stepped aside to allow Ford to enter, nodding towards the crib at the far end of the room. Ford crept up to it. Arthur walked close behind him. He was relieved to see that Dougie was still asleep and the towel was still wrapped firmly around.

"Gloosh," Ford breathed and even in the dark Arthur could tell that tears had formed in his eyes. "He's so..." and Ford said nothing else. He merely stood over the cradle, staring down at their son sleeping peacefully as the tears trekked down his cheeks. 

Arthur was suddenly reminded of the day he had first seen Dougie, when that perfect little bundle had been placed in his arms all small and pink and mewling sweetly. Arthur remembered how he had screamed and cried until he felt dizzy and sick and Arthur had to admit that Ford was taking this much better than he had.

"Is he wearing a towel?" Ford asked.

"He loves towels," Arthur told him. "He takes them everywhere."

Ford wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand and Arthur could practically see the pride radiating off of him. "You know Arthur, I don't think he looks like me," Ford laughed quietly as he continued to wipe the tears from his face. "I think he looks like you."

Arthur knew that Ford was lying, but that didn't stop him from erupting into tears anyway.


	5. Chapter 5

By morning Ford was head over heels in love with Dougie, but Dougie hadn't exactly warmed up to Ford. Arthur had planned to let Ford feed Dougie breakfast as a way to help the two bond, but Dougie had taken one look at Ford and began to scream and kick and cry until he was positively purple. Arthur then had to take him out of the room and sit with him until Dougie no longer looked as if he were ready to burst. When Dougie had finally calmed down he proceeded to bury his face into Arthur's shirt, clinging to him and whimpering pathetically as if to say "please don't ever do that again."

Things proceeded to get stranger from there when Fenchurch came by that night (as she did almost every night) determined to help Dougie get used to Ford. She came up with the idea of introducing the two in stages. She started off by placing a towel over Ford's head, reasoning that Dougie was merely upset by the idea of seeing someone whose face looked so much like his own, and gradually removing it a little at a time. It was a slow process and took more than a week for Dougie to get comfortable enough with Ford's presence to simply whimper and shuffle about awkwardly at the sight of him. Within a fortnight, however, Dougie had grown bold enough to actually approach Ford on his own and didn't put up too much of a fight when Ford tried to hold him.

Having the two grow accustomed to each other certainly made things simpler, but no less strange. In fact, life became even stranger, because now Arthur was living with Ford and dating Fenchurch which made Arthur felt like a rope in a game of tug of war. Fenchurch, for her part, would seem to make a point of keeping at least one hand on Arthur at all times while Ford began to be far too inquisitive about the details of Arthur's current relationship. ("How long have you two been seeing each other? Have you had sex yet? Is the sex any good? Do you need another set of hands?" "A few months. Yes we have. Yes it is. None of your business.")

Not that Fenchurch and Ford hated each other. Really the two seemed to get on rather well. Whenever Arthur would leave the two of them alone together, he would often return to find them chatting quite naturally or sharing a silence that didn't seem the least bit tense. Arthur reasoned that the two could have easily been pleasant acquaintances, if not good friends, were it not for him.

"You know Ford," Arthur began one night over dinner. Fenchurch was there, as she often was, and she had cooked some haddock with onions and a side of potatoes. Dougie didn't like fish, but he had learned to enjoyed potatoes as long as they were steamed, so Arthur was feeding it to him along with a few cooked carrots. The food was nice, but the room had been tense in the way that it often was when Ford, Arthur, and Fenchurch were forced to interact. "I've been meaning to ask something: what ever happened to Trillian and Zaphod?"

"Oh, they're doing quite well," Ford assured him after taking a sip of his beer. Since Ford had decided to stay with him the house was now filled with beer and scotch and gin and even though Arthur had specifically told Ford not to drink around Dougie, he often broke this rule during dinner because Ford didn't like to eat anything without a drink in his stomach. "They're not together anymore, but they're good."

"They broke up?" Arthur squeaked stunned by this news and the casual way Ford had delivered it. "When?"

"About two years ago."

"That's terrible!" Ford stared at him. Arthur cleared his throat and tried again. "Well... in principal, I mean."

"More space friends?" Fenchurch asked, dabbing at the corners of her lips with the tip of her napkin.

"Yes, well, sort of," Arthur fumbled, both with his words and the spoon in his hand that Dougie was currently trying to pry out of his grip. "Zaphod was never really much of a friend and Trillian was from Earth, but she seemed to like space better."

Fenchurch nodded, accepting this because she had to, before taking a sip from her water glass. "You know, there's been something I've been meaning to ask as well," she began thoughtfully. "A while back Arthur said that Dougie was three years old. That was a few months ago now and, well, he looks about the same. Is that normal where you're from Ford?"

"I've been meaning to ask that as well," Arthur said truthfully, but kept silent that he had been too afraid of the answer to actually go ahead and ask the question himself. "Is this something I should be losing a terrible amount of sleep over?"

Ford looked at Dougie thoughtfully for a moment, studying him as best as he could from his place across the table. After a few moments of silence he shrugged. "He seems about normal to me," he said at last. "How is he supposed to look?"

"Um..." Fenchurch began and then trailed off awkwardly.

"Well," Arthur supplied helpfully. "Bigger, I suppose. He's still a baby when he should be a toddler." From Ford's blank stare Arthur could tell he didn't know what he was getting at, so he went on. "He should have more teeth," he explained. "Better motor skills, able to use the toilet on his own..."

"You mean he should be more independent?" Ford asked. Arthur nodded although he didn't quite think the word "independent" was the best fit. "He'll get there. In a year or so."

"So you're saying by the time Dougie's five... he'll be two?" Fenchurch asked in a way that made it seem as if she were trying to read a book backwards. 

"Basically," he shrugged before stuffing another forkful of fish into his mouth. "We age a bit differently where I come from. We have long childhoods. He'll probably be a kid for a few years longer than what would be considered 'normal' here, but I wouldn't worry too much about it."

"Well that's a relief," Arthur muttered sarcastically. It was one thing to speculate that Dougie wasn't aging properly; it was another to have it confirmed. Now he would have to come up with something to cover up this fact, because he doubted it would go unnoticed for very long. "At least it explains why you've hardly aged in all the time we've known each other."

"You know Arthur, while we're all saying things we've been meaning to say, there's something I've wanted to tell you." Arthur stiffened at the statement. He watched as Ford looked at him and then looked at Dougie and then looked at Arthur again. "I may not be an expert on babies, but I'm pretty sure they have special baby sized feeding chairs that you can use instead of holding him like that all the time."

Arthur blushed and cleared his throat as he shifted Dougie in his lap. Dougie gave a soft grunt and knocked Arthur's fork to the floor. "Well, yes, I know that, but you see it's just easier this way."

Ford looked unconvinced and Fenchurch's laughter certainly wasn't helping. "Haven't you noticed, Ford?" she chuckled. "Arthur subscribes to the 'over nurturing' school of parenting."

As usual the sarcastic tone in the statement slipped past Ford's notice as he leaned forward and offered a genuinely interested "Oh?" in response.

Fenchurch's smile widened, mistakenly believing that Ford was playing along with her. "Arthur brings Dougie everywhere he goes; work, the market, the cinema..." Arthur felt his face slowly turn redder as he listened to Fenchurch's list expand. He suddenly felt like crawling under the table under the pretense of retrieving his fork and simply staying there the rest of the night. "He even brought Dougie with him on our first date!"

"I couldn't very well hire a sitter!" Arthur said with a defensive huff. "Dougie... he has very special needs."

"Have you ever hired a sitter?" Ford countered.

"Well... he spends time at the office daycare, but..."

"Have you ever considered having Ford sit with him?" Fenchurch supplied and Arthur felt himself go positively white at the prospect.

"Yeah I can watch him," Ford said as a trail of beer slid down his chin. "I've sat with a few kids before."

"Oh really?" Arthur asked skeptically. "When was this?"

"Um... don't recall."

"What species were they?"

"Not sure."

"Did they survive the night?"

"I'm almost positive they did."

"Well, that settles it," Arthur said with a bitter laugh. "It's not happening."

\---

That night, Ford went out for a drink, as he did nearly every night, because despite the fact that he had loaded Arthur's house with enough alcohol to stock a pub, the idea of getting drunk and staying in one spot seemed almost unfathomable to Ford. Yet Arthur soon discovered one of the many advantages to their new living situation: unlike in the early years of their friendship -- when there had only been one version of the Earth and Arthur was still blissfully unaware that his friend wasn't a native resident of the planet -- when Ford asked Arthur to go drinking with him, Arthur could simply refuse on the grounds that he had to stay with the baby. Ford would then proceed to look dejected, but would make no further protests before leaving for the night. Arthur would then, very generously, leave a pillow, a glass of water, and a few aspirin on the floor where Ford would inevitably pass out upon returning later that night/morning and go to bed.

When Ford left that evening, Fenchurch didn't, choosing to stay the night with Arthur and Dougie. She stayed over more often now, frequently on the rare nights that Ford didn't go on a pub crawl, but she occasionally stayed when he was gone as well. Arthur didn't ask, but he had a feeling Fenchurch was starting to worry about leaving Ford and Arthur alone together.

She was wearing one of his old shirts and combing out her hair near the foot of the bed. Arthur was turning down the sheets and found his eyes being pulled between the bedding and the curve of Fenchurch's back as she continued to detangle the soft waves of her dark hair. When she put her brush aside and began to weave her hair into a loose braid, Arthur suddenly felt the urge to speak.

"Do you really think I'm over nurturing?"

He watched as Fenchurch's body stiffened momentarily, her fingers going still mid braid and her back arching slightly before she finally turned to face him. "Well, yes," she said. "And a bit overprotective. More than a bit really. Quite overprotective honestly."

He frowned down at the bed then turned back to look at her. "Well... why didn't you ever say anything?"

"I have."

"W-well I thought you were joking!"

"I was joking," she said helpfully, "but I was also serious." Fenchurch frowned thoughtfully as she finished her braid, tying off the end with a rubber band. "Look Arthur, I think you're a wonderful father, really I do, but I also think you have to learn to let go a little."

Arthur sputtered. "Learn to let go? He's still a baby!"

"Arthur he's nearly four."

"Yes, that may be, but it's only in years. Physically he's still a baby! And, well, you heard what Ford said: Dougie's going to be little for a very long time. He's going to need me more than a normal child would need his father."

"I understand that Arthur, but even parents with babies younger than Dougie's _physical_ age give their children a bit more space than you do."

Arthur frowned at this. "Is this about the feeding?"

Fenchurch opened her mouth to speak and then stopped, frowned, and thought. After a moment of silence she got up and sat closer to Arthur who followed suit. "It's not just the feeding," she said softly, "although you really should consider investing in a chair for him. It's also... well, you do realize that it's a bit... _odd_ to still have his crib in your room, don't you?"

Almost on reflex, Arthur glanced towards the darkened end of the room where Dougie was currently sleeping soundly inside the white bars of his cradle. He frowned, more confused and frightened than angry, before turning back to Fenchurch. "He still is quite small," he argued.

"One year old babies sleep on their own, Arthur."

"Yes, well, it's a very tiny house."

"Arthur, across the hall is a room filled with dust, dingy old magazines, dog eared books, and big brown boxes labeled 'stuff' that would make a perfectly suitable nursery. All it would take to make it happen would be one day of sorting through that mess, another day clearing out the dust, and one more day of painting. It may even take less than that because I would help you and Ford could too."

"I think we should go to bed."

"Arthur." Fenchurch stopped again, frowning in frustration this time as if she suddenly realized that things weren't going the way she had intended them to. "Arthur, do you ever notice that sometimes when you hold on to Dougie too tight, he starts to pull away?"

He said nothing to that, because Arthur had noticed. It was happening more often now and Dougie was starting to pull away in different ways. Fenchurch may not have noticed it, but Dougie was starting to develop more. When left on the ground Dougie could walk better and faster than Arthur would ever admit to. He could also hold a spoon quite firmly in his hands and press a bottle to his lips quite securely. More teeth had sprouted in his gums and new words were slowly entering his vocabulary. Arthur had seen these little things and had been troubled to realize that instead of feeling proud of his son, he actually felt frustrated.

Soon Dougie would be older. It didn't matter if it was in two years or five years or even ten, he would be older. He'll learn to talk in complete sentences and walk for miles without stumbling and he'll go to school and make friends and he'll disappear the way Ford always did, the way everyone did.

"I think I'm going to go to sleep," Arthur said firmly, switching off the lights to emphasize his point. Fenchurch didn't say anything, but he could feel her frowning at his back for a few minutes before finally settling into bed.

\---

Ford came home at four in the morning. Arthur knew this because he had been wide awake most of the night and had heard the sound of Ford stumbling his way through the door before collapsing to the floor with an impressive thud. Fenchurch and Dougie didn't so much as stir at the sound, but Arthur suddenly felt more awake than before and after a minute or two of debate, found himself pushing his way out of bed. He grabbed his dressing gown and crept carefully out the door and down the stairs.

When he arrived on the ground floor he saw that Ford had landed precisely where he had expected, his head resting neatly on the pillow Arthur had set out for him. The water glass, however, had been knocked over and Arthur wasn't sure if it was a result of the fall or if Ford had reached for it and failed to grasp it. Arthur frowned, picked up the glass and refilled it, using the towel in Ford's satchel to soak up the water that had spread into a slight puddle on the ground. Fortunately for Arthur he had carpeting and wouldn't have to worry about the floors being ruined. For a moment he considered helping Ford to the couch, but pushed that idea aside when he remembered that Ford was now just dead weight that Arthur wouldn't be able to lift on his own. Instead he went upstairs to grab a blanket which he draped over Ford's lower half. When Ford seemed as comfortable as he could manage to be while passed out on the floor, Arthur went over to his sofa and sat, enjoying the relative silence of the late night/early morning.

Not for the first time he began to wonder if he had made a mistake coming back to Earth. This wasn't the life he had been hoping to give Dougie, one that was safe, predictable, and easy. Things had seemed perfect before, but now Ford was here and everything was just so difficult.

No. No it wasn't Ford, because Fenchurch had made her desires to go into space clear months ago and Dougie had been pulling away from him far longer than Arthur wanted admit. And also there were the dolphins. It wasn't something that he dwelled on often, but Arthur couldn't quite figure out what had happened to them and when he did stop to think about it his head began to hurt a bit.

This wasn't the Earth that he had wished for, that he had missed when he was sitting up at night on a space ship or sleeping in a cave or gazing up at an unfamiliar sky on a foreign planet and he wondered if there was some way that he could make things the way he wished they were.

\---

"Do you think you could watch Dougie tomorrow night?"

Ford peaked out from underneath the bag of ice that had engulfed most of his head and looked up at Arthur with blurry bloodshot eyes. Arthur knew that Ford wasn't nearly as hung-over as he appeared and was just exaggerating his condition. It was something he had a tendency to do on mornings after Fenchurch had spent the night and Arthur couldn't understand why her presence seemed more unbearable to Ford now as opposed to any other time of the day.

"Whazzat?" Ford forcibly grumbled.

Arthur rolled his eyes as he pushed the ice bag off of Ford's head. "Oh come off it Ford! Fenchurch left an hour ago." Ford began the gradual process of pretending to sober up as he lazily reached across the table and began dragging a plate of toast and a jar of jam towards himself. "Tomorrow night," Arthur began again. He didn't know why he was speaking slow and deliberately, but he just went along with it. "I'm taking Fenchurch out. Do you think you could watch Dougie?"

Without lifting his head off of the table, Ford had managed to spread his jam onto the toast and take a sizable bite. He hummed lowly as he chewed. "I thought you didn't want me sitting with him."

"Well if you don't feel up to it..." Arthur felt somewhat relieved at the prospect of Ford saying no to him. While it would put a bit of a damper on his plans, he still wasn't completely sold on the idea of leaving Dougie alone with Ford, even if it would be for just one night.

"I'm up for it," Ford put in as quickly as a mouth full of chewed bread and a cheek pressed flat against a table would allow. "I can manage. It's just one baby."

"One half alien space baby," Arthur reminded him. The sound of plastic clattering together alerted them to the fact that said half alien space baby was currently playing with his toys in the next room.

"Yeah, well I'm an entirely alien space baby," he pointed out. "And he's got half my DNA so we've got that in common." Ford reached beneath the table and pulled out his copy of _The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_ probably from either his satchel or the folds of his clothes. He took another bite from his toast and began tapping at the screen, still not bothering to sit any straighter in his chair. "I'm sure there's an entry on babies in the _Guide_."

Arthur frowned. "Let's not bring the guide into this."

"Bay-bees," Ford was saying and Arthur decided to snatch the book away from him.

"Not now Ford."

Dougie toddled over to them then, holding a banana in his little hand and pressing it into Arthur's side. "Ba dah!" he shouted, tapping the banana against Arthur's knee.

"Hungry already?" Arthur laughed as he lifted Dougie into his lap. He gave his cheek a kiss and his belly a pass. "You just ate breakfast."

Seeing that Arthur's hands were full, Ford reached over and grabbed Dougie's banana and peeled it before passing it back across the table. "Why the sudden change of heart?"

"There's something I need to take care of," Arthur said in a cryptic sort of tone that he hoped conveyed the fact that he did not wish to go into any more detail on the matter. Ford, for his part, didn't seem to take the hint, but fortunately Dougie decided at that moment that he wasn't hungry after all and was much more interested in using his palm to mash the banana into a paste against the unsuspecting table. "Well," Arthur sighed wearily as he pried the remaining chunk of bruised peel away from Dougie's grasp, "I should have seen that coming."

"Give him here."

Arthur frowned. "Do you plan on sitting upright while you hold him?"

"We'll see when you let me hold him."

Arthur continued to frown even as he stood up and passed Dougie over to Ford's end of the table. To his credit, Ford did lift his head, slightly, as he balanced Dougie on his knee. Dougie made a gurgling noise as he attempted to rub the mashed up banana onto Ford's cheek. Arthur said nothing as he went into the kitchen in order to retrieve a dish towel.

"Looks like it's just going to be the two of us tomorrow night," Ford was saying as he continued to duck and dodge Dougie's sticky fingers while bouncing him in his lap. "Just you and your Dad."

"No," Arthur said firmly, perhaps a bit too firmly, when he returned to the table. "No, I'm dad."

"Why's that?" Ford countered. "You're more like his mom than his dad."

His cheeks flushed at Ford's comment, a fact that he tried -- and failed -- to cover by bowing his head as he wiped off the table top. "Yes, well, I was there from the start so I got to choose what name I wanted," he huffed. "And I already chose to be dad so you'll just have to pick something else."

Now it was Ford's turn to frown, an expression that was a strange mixture of thoughtful and bitter. "Well then what should I have him call me?"

"How about Uncle Ford?"

"'Uncle'? I'm his father."

"Second father." The table was now mostly clean and Dougie had moved on from trying to use Ford's face as a napkin to sucking the bits of banana off of his little fingers himself. "Or... well, what would you call this sort of thing where you're from?"

Ford shrugged. "I dunno. My species only has one father."

"But you have multiple mothers, right? What do you call them?"

Ford responded by making a strange, shrill noise that reminded Arthur for the first time in months that he no longer had the babel fish in his ear.

"Oh, well, um... I think that might be a bit difficult for him to pronounce," Arthur mumbled. "We're still working on moving past 'banana' after all."

"I guess 'Papa' will have to do for now," Ford said with an exasperated sigh. Clearly more names would be thrown around in the future, but for now Arthur was silently unhappy with the idea of sharing any variation of the father title with someone else. "What do you think Dougie?" Ford went on, oblivious to Arthur's quite displeasure as he gave Dougie's stomach a quick pat. "Can you say 'Papa'?"

"Buh-bah!" Dougie said.

Ford shrugged. "Close enough."


	6. Chapter 6

To say that Arthur was nervous was akin to saying that waking up one day and discovering that the Earth was soon to be demolished was mildly inconvenient, to say that his hands were trembling was like saying that the after effects of teleportation were slightly unpleasant, and to say that his face was flushed was similar to calling the skies above the planet Krikkit a bit dull. The truth of the matter was that Arthur was an absolute nervous wreck that night and, beneath all of his other anxieties that were mostly drowning this thought out, had to marvel at the fact that Fenchurch had yet to call any attention to this.

"I know I've said this before and that we've already been here for some time, but, well, I just have to say it again," she was saying, a playful smile pulling at her lips as her half empty glass of wine rested aloft in her hand. "I can't believe that we're here: out at a nice restaurant, just the two of us! This is a first." Her smile widened a bit as she took another sip of her drink and then placed it softly back against the white linen table cloth. "I think I might have another glass of wine."

Arthur did his best to laugh, but found that his voice was too jittery to do so properly and a strange sort of wheeze escaped him instead. Again Fenchurch failed to notice this (or at least seemed to), but Arthur found his already red face burning brighter when his ears caught on to what he had just done. The lighting in the restaurant was quite dim, but that didn't stop the other dinners from periodically looking over at him as if he were in the midst of having a stroke. Arthur briefly wondered if he was.

"Well, I can't bring Dougie everywhere, now can I?" Arthur said and he was quite proud of the fact that he had managed to do so in a coherent manner.

The pleasant smile on Fenchurch's face slipped away and Arthur suddenly found himself feeling guilty as well as anxious. "Is this about what I said the other night?" Fenchurch asked in a manner that was both regretful and apologetic. "Oh Arthur, I'm sorry. It wasn't my place to-"

"No, it's not that," Arthur put in quickly. "You were right after all."

"Well even if I was right, I shouldn't have it," Fenchurch went on. "I adore Dougie, but he's not mine and I shouldn't tell you how to raise him."

"Fenchurch." For a moment Arthur considered reaching across the table to grab her hands, but quickly decided against it. Not only were his fingers trembling and likely to knock over their discarded plates or utensils if he made the wrong move, but his palms were also quite damp and Arthur didn't think Fenchurch would enjoy having his sweat on her hands. "Fenchurch," he said again. "I know you mean well, and I know you care about Dougie a great deal. It's why I don't mind you giving me advice on how to raise him. If anyone else had said those things, maybe I would have been angry, but, well, you were the one who said them so I'm not angry. And you were right. I do need to give Dougie some space."

He watched as Fenchurch's face turned thoughtful as a waiter came by to collect their empty plates. "Can I interest you in anything else?" the waiter asked with a concerned note in his voice.

"No, we're fine, thank you," Arthur said distantly.

"Are you sure about that, sir?" he pressed. "A glass of water perhaps?"

"No. Thank you. We're fine."

"Very well, sir," the waiter said reluctantly. "I will be nearby if you need anything."

The waiter left with their plates and glasses and Fenchurch let out a slight chortle as he glanced over his shoulder one last time. 

Arthur cleared his throat and then went on. "Listen Fenchurch," he began as he reached into his pants pocket and pulled something out. "I've been thinking about some things lately. Not just what you said, but, well, a lot of things. Us mainly: you and me and Dougie. I feel like we connect very well -- you and I -- and Dougie has taken to you and you know how he is with strangers. I guess what I'm trying to say is..."

Arthur stopped there, although he certainly had more to say. He wanted to say some things about how happy he was and how he felt solid and grounded for the first time in what seemed like an eternity and how he hoped that things could continue on like this forever, but he didn't. He didn't say any of these things because he looked down at his lap and saw that the small box that he had pulled out of his pocket was open and that inside there was absolutely nothing.

In that instant all the color that had been pouring into his face seemed to evaporate and Arthur knew without glancing in a mirror or any other sort of reflective surface that he had gone positively ashen. This time Fenchurch did seem to take notice of this as she leaned in from across the table and stretched her hand towards him. He looked up at her, his eyes very wide and his vision a bit blurred with the new form of panic that had settled on him.

"Arthur?" she began in a concerned voice. 

"Um," he cut in suddenly, swallowing painfully against the nothing in his throat. "Do you think you'd care for some dessert?"

\---

When Arthur came home that night he was annoyed, although not at all surprised to find that Dougie was not in bed, despite the fact that it was already ten o'clock at night and when he had left for the evening he had already washed and fed the baby and left Ford only with the simple task of watching him sleep. It was a task that Ford obviously didn't care to complete and had instead assembled a crude sort of blanket fort in the middle of the living room as Dougie toddled back and forth handing him plastic toys and towels.

Dougie greeted Arthur's arrival with his usual happy squeak of "Da!" while Ford could barely be bothered to lift his head in order to acknowledge Arthur's arrival. "Wow, you're home early," Ford said as he felt around the cluttered floor in search of the television remote. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised."

Arthur bent down to pick up Dougie, scooping him into his arms and pressing him against his chest as he usually did, but found that he did not feel the usual sense of peace that holding his child often gave him. Instead, as he stood there, holding the baby in his arms and looking down at Ford sprawled on the floor in his living room Arthur found that he could only feel angry. "Get out of my house."

Dougie stilled in his arms, perhaps taken aback by his tone, and Ford actually looked somewhat shocked when he turned to look up at Arthur. "I see the date didn't go well."

"Get out," he said flatly. "Right now. Get up and get out!"

Ford didn't move right away. Instead he looked around himself as if searching for some sign that Arthur was pulling his leg, but when he realized there was no joke to be told, he frowned and slowly pushed himself to his feet. "What is this-"

"The ring!" Arthur practically seethed as he used one hand to reach into his pocket and pull out the empty jewelry box, which he promptly threw to the floor. "The ring! My grandmother's ring! You stole it didn't you?"

Realization slowly started to settle onto Ford and Arthur was insulted to see that instead of looking guilty or at least sheepish, Ford actually had a sort of odd calm come over him as he stood up straight and tall in front of Arthur. "'Stole'," Ford began slowly, "implies I took it for monetary gain. I threw the ring away."

The sound of Dougie's soft whimper was enough to let Arthur know that his grip had suddenly gotten far too tight and he was quick to put the boy back down before he could do anything stupid. "You threw my grandmother's ring away!" he practically screamed and by now Dougie was crying. "How could you?"

"You were going to give it to Fenchurch, weren't you?"

"Yes."

"Well, you know why."

Arthur felt his face turn red and his hands shake as they balled themselves into tight fists. He wanted desperately to hit something, but stopped himself when he remembered he had just gotten this house back after years of searching for it and punching a hole in the wall would only give him a bruised fist and a chore for the next morning. Instead he closed his eyes and tried his best to count to ten. He got as far as two before snapping his eyes open and turning to Ford. "What makes you think you have the right to do that?" Arthur barked. "Dammit Ford, we are not together! We never _were_ together!"

"Keep telling yourself that Arthur!" Ford barked back. "Keep telling yourself that you love a girl you barely know and that you're marrying her for completely unselfish reasons when the truth is you just want to cover up the fact that you had sex with an alien, had a baby, and you are one hundred percent, unquestionably _weird_! You came running back to Earth thinking that you could just slip right back into your dull life again, but you can't! It can't happen because you've changed: you're different, we're different, and you belong with me!"

Somewhere in the room Dougie was crying, confused and scared, but his shrill cries were a distant sound under the churning in Arthur's ears. "I don't love you Ford!" Arthur screamed, because it was the one thing he knew would really get to Ford and it felt good to see him flinch. "I never loved you! I only fucked you because there was no one else and I've regretted doing it ever since!"

Ford left. He didn't bother to gather his things or even look for them before he walked past Arthur and out the door. 

Arthur waited a full minute before searching for Dougie, who had crawled under a cushion and was wearing a towel over his head. Arthur pulled him into his arms and sat down on the floor where the two began to cry together.

\---

_Arthur sat in his seat in more than a bit of a panic as his numb hands continued to grip the velvet box that should have contained a ring with which he would have used to ask a question to a very beautiful woman from whom he had hoped to receive a yes. Instead, there was nothing. No ring, no question, and no yes._

_Actually, there had been a question, but it wasn't the question he had intended to ask and as such he wasn't very disappointed when Fenchurch had said "No." He was, however, a bit confused by the way she frowned -- deep and thoughtful and a bit sad -- after he had asked her and for a moment he wondered if she had known what he had been trying to say._

_"No, Arthur, I don't think I'd much care for sweets right now," Fenchurch went on to say. "In fact, there's something I need to say. You see, I've been doing some thinking myself, a good deal of it actually, and well..." Arthur said nothing. He felt his throat and his chest tighten as he watched Fenchurch's shoulders slump and her head sink as she looked down at her hand still spread across the table. "I think this is as far as we'll go."_

_He didn't hear that. At least, he didn't want to believe that he had heard that, but as the rest of the diners and staff in the restaurant began to chatter on and mill about around them, Arthur suddenly found that he could do nothing but listen to the words play over and over again in an odd sort of loop in his head. "I... I don't understand," he said after what seemed like an age had passed between them. He studied Fenchurch's expression carefully for any signs of change, but her lips never as much as twitched. "Is this about Ford?"_

_"Yes," she said quietly. "And no." She looked up at him then and Arthur could see that her eyes were slowly starting to turn red. "I thought it was at first, but then I began to realize that I'd been having these feelings before he showed up."_

_"When did they start?"_

_"When you told me about Dougie," she confessed. "And it wasn't Dougie!" Fenchurch put in quickly. "I wasn't lying when I said I adored him, I do Arthur, I really do. I don't think I could love him anymore even if he were my son, but when you told me about space and how the Earth... I knew then that my future wasn't here, that the questions I had couldn't be answered here. I need to go Arthur, I need to find my answers and I can't do that if I stay here with you."_

_Arthur felt himself sink down against the hard wooden back of the chair, the restaurant suddenly felt very small and stuffy as he struggled to blink away the strange fog that had blurred his vision. "I don't understand," he choked out at last. "I was happy... I thought you were happy."_

_Fenchurch slipped her hand away, resting it against her lap as she gave him a watery smile. "How can I ever be happy if I don't feel complete?"_

\---

"Look at this boy! Haven't seen him in months and he's barely grown an inch! You haven't been just feeding him carrots and bananas now? I told you a growing babe needs more variety in his meals! And really now, to come all this way without any pictures? Honestly Arthur, I raised you better than that."

Arthur nodded vacantly along to his mother's words, feeling very much like a bobble head doll as he only distantly followed along with what was being said. He had heard his mother's speech several times in the past few days, every morning in fact, since he had arrived at his parent's house, and after a few half hearted attempts to argue defensively, he gave up all together and accepted the tirade along with his morning tea. 

Not that he was in much of a mood for tea anymore. Not that he was in much of a mood for anything anymore. In fact, most of his visit with his parents had been spent either half sitting half slouching, but mainly disappearing, into the worn old couch in their sitting room while his mother chattered away and his father read the paper or wallowing miserably in self pity in his old bedroom. Distantly, he did feel foolish (and guilty) for coming all this way just to sulk, but Arthur couldn't very well be depressed and on his own when there was still Dougie to take care of. Handing the baby off to his parents was a selfish thing to do, but it was better than having the boy's needs neglected outright. Truthfully, Arthur- suspected that his mother didn't really mind too much because caring for Dougie (and berating Arthur) gave her something to do.

"I have friends, too you know," his mother went on, "and neighbors. People I'd like to share pictures with! How am I ever supposed to show off my handsome grandson without any pictures!"

"Oh come off it Gert!" Arthur's father grumbled from behind the folds of the morning paper. "You've been on the boy about this for weeks now."

"Taking his side now?" she asked with a defensive huff as she shifted Dougie in her arms. She had been carrying him around the house, balanced on her hip all day every day since Arthur had walked through the front gate and placed him in her arms. Clearly his mother hadn't simply been blowing smoke when she claimed to think the world of her grandson. "Fine. I suppose I'll climb up to the attic and dig the old camera out of storage myself. Of course climbing that rickety old ladder does hurt my knees horribly and all that dust can't be good for my old lungs at this age, but it seems it must be so! Those albums won't fill themselves and no one else wants to do the work for me..."

Arthur watched as his mother disappeared around the corner and into the kitchen where she continued to talk endlessly to no one in particular. "She does realize," he muttered to his father, "that the attic is on the other end of the house, doesn't she?"

His father put down his paper then and pinned Arthur with a withered look. "She's been threatening to dig out that old camera for months now," he told him wearily, "and not once has she even set a toe on that ladder." His father proceeded to mumble something to himself as he went back to his paper, but Arthur wasn't listening anymore. He was too busy rubbing at his face with the sleeve of his dressing gown (a new one that he had purchased soon after returning to Earth) and thinking how there were in fact plenty of pictures of Dougie back at home, but they all had Fenchurch in them and would therefore need to be burned.

Arthur couldn't remember the last time he had felt this miserable. His eyes felt sore from crying and his throat was scratchy from staying up all night moaning to himself. A part of him realized that he was acting like a sulking teenager, but a bigger part just didn't care, because he had been in love, really and truly in love and now it was all gone. Tears began to burn the corners of his eyes. Suddenly his beautiful solid world felt empty and cold and Arthur wished that he had never bothered to come back to Earth.

"Drink some tea, Artie," his father insisted, nodding towards the tray set out in front of them. "A nice cuppa will make you feel better."

"No thanks Dad," Arthur sighed as he continued to rub at his face. "I'm not in the mood."

"How 'bout a scone then? Blueberry? Your mother got them yesterday."

"I don't feel much like eating, thanks."

The two of them sat in silence for a moment, the only sounds in the room being the sound of the clock ticking and the paper crinkling under his father's fingers. Arthur shifted on the couch, wondering if it was too early to go back to bed, then realized he didn't care. He was about to stand, but the sound of his father clearing his throat shocked him into stopping.

"What's all this about, Arthur?" his father asked quite seriously (if wearily). "You've been here nearly three weeks now and all you've done is mope. I know your heart's been broken, but you've been dumped before and never took it this hard. What's really the matter?"

Arthur thought about this for a moment, really thought, and felt himself begin to frown as he sank down deeper into the cushions. "Did you ever regret being a father, Dad?"

His father stilled and Arthur felt both relieved and miserable when he saw the look of horror cross the older Dent's face. "What's this about?" he asked again and Arthur decided right away not to point out the fact that he hadn't answered Arthur's original question.

"I... I had a fight with a friend," he explained at length, focusing his gaze on the tip of his belt as he spoke. "It was the night Fenchurch left me. I said... I said something horrible and I realized that... I think my life would be better if Dougie had never been born." The tears came instantly to his eyes and Arthur suddenly felt too ashamed of himself to even wipe his cheek. "I love my son, I do, but sometimes I think... Did I make a mistake? Did I ruin both our lives? Would he have been happier somewhere else? With someone else?"

Arthur felt his stomach sink down to his feet and his skin grow cold as he unleashed the thoughts that had been sitting in the back of his mind for years. Even though he remembered the day he’d first laid eyes on Dougie quite clearly, it was difficult for Arthur to admit that it hadn't been a wave of love and acceptance that had washed over him the moment the baby had been placed in his arms, but a sense of gnawing dread that had never really gone away.

A firm hand gripped his shoulder and Arthur was shocked when his father responded to his deeply guarded fears with a fond chuckle instead of thinly veiled horror. "Oh Art, that's all perfectly normal," he assured him. "You're not the first father to second guess himself. You don't just roll off the log and become a perfect parent. Do you think I had a good handle on being a dad from the start? I can't tell you all the times I made a mess of raising you kids!" He watched as his father's face grew fond and distant as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Why, I must have dropped you at least a dozen times before you were even three months!"

"What? I was _dropped_?"

"And that time I left you at the market." His father chuckled as he went on without regard for the way Arthur's face was starting to turn ghostly pale. "Of course, we were beside ourselves at first, but your mother and I laughed about it later on. Although, the third time around was a bit troubling for everyone."

"Horrifying anecdotes from my childhood are not what I was asking for Dad," Arthur grumbled as he scrubbed at his cheeks with the hem of his dressing gown. "What I meant was..."

"I know what you meant, Artie," his father sighed. The hand on his shoulder offered him a gentle pat. "And the truth of the matter is... well, maybe you did make a mistake. Maybe you never should have had that boy. Does hearing that make you feel better? No. Does it change anything? No. It's in the past and all you can do is move towards the future."

Arthur nodded distantly as his father continued on talking at length about other times he had unwittingly left Arthur here or there as a child. Things weren't exactly clear just yet, but they were slowly working their way there.

\---

It was the very next day that Ford appeared and Arthur knew that he shouldn't have been surprised even though he was. Ford always had a tendency to appear during moments when Arthur felt absolutely certain he would never see his friend again. He wondered briefly if Ford was aware of this at all and was intentionally trying to bother his friend with this little talent or if this was just another in a long line of strange coincidences.

"Gray this time?" Ford asked, his eyes fixed on the dressing gown Arthur had been wearing for the better part of the past three weeks, as he sat down beside him on the front steps to his parent's house. "It's nice."

"What are you doing here Ford?" Arthur asked wearily. In truth he was too tired to be angry or even care, but it was a question he felt obligated to ask. "I didn't exactly tell you I'd be here. I don't even think I've ever mentioned my parent's cottage to you before."

"No, you didn't," Ford shrugged, resting his elbows against the worn wood and tilting his head towards the sun. "But it was listed in your address book so I took a chance and came."

Arthur sputtered as Ford casually reached into his satchel with his right hand and pulled out Arthur's old address book. "Y-you broke into my house? _Again_?"

"Yeah, well, you yelled at me!"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

Ford was practically pouting as he turned his head away in a somewhat sheepish gesture. "I didn't like it," he huffed childishly. "You were mean."

The idea of laughing at Ford's ridiculously infantile statement was a far off notion for Arthur who was too overcome by shame to do anything more than stare distantly at the front gate swing in the breeze. He had been mean and hurtful that night, but he'd also been heartbroken and angry and Ford had _stolen_ from him! "I guess I was a bit out of line," Arthur said after a while. "What you did was terrible, but what I said was..."

"Also terrible?" Ford supplied helpfully.

"It was mean," Arthur corrected. He sighed, rubbing the palm of his hand against the hairs sprouting from his chin. It had been weeks since he shaved and while Arthur didn't exactly have the energy to do so, the last thing he wanted was to grow another beard. It would remind him far too much of space. "I was mean."

There was a pause between them as a strong gust of wind passed through, causing the gate to slam shut and tearing a few leaves from the trees. Arthur's mother had suggested he step outside, telling him that the fresh air would do his head some good, and Arthur had to admit that he was feeling a bit less muddled on certain things. 

"Do you really regret it?" Ford asked at length. His long legs were stretched out into the dirt path in front of them, feet crossed at the ankles and worn shoelaces tangling in the wind. "Us being together?"

"I... I don't know. Sometimes?" He groaned, rubbing at his eyes until they felt ready to pop out of their sockets. "Sometimes I do because things got so complicated and out of hand. It was all fine back in the cave when there was nothing to do and no one else around -- no one that _really mattered_ that is -- but then we were back in our own time and there was all that sneaking around! But everyone knew, didn't they? Zaphod and Trillian... I think even bloody _Marvin_ figured us out after a while and it was humiliating!

"But then there were times when it was just the two of us again and... and yeah, you weren't always perfect. You were annoying sometimes, an insensitive prat other times, but... but then you'd hold me and kiss me and..." His words trailed off when he felt Ford's hand slide its way into his grasp, his bony fingers looping themselves around Arthur's in a gesture that was painfully familiar yet distant. "And then we made Dougie and he is the absolute definition of unexpected."

"He's the definition of improbable," Ford corrected.

Arthur nodded. "Our unexpected, improbable baby." A small smile crept across his lips at the thought of the child that was currently sound asleep inside the little country home. "I suppose if I were to say that I completely regret it, I'd be saying I regret him and... I don't. I don't regret having him or keeping him. He's my life now."

"Fenchurch broke it off, didn't she?"

Again Arthur sputtered, because he had just poured his heart out to Ford and somehow _that_ was all he had to say in response. "Why would you ask me that _now_?"

Ford shrugged, throwing his hands into the air defensively, but still maintaining his hold on Arthur. "Just wondering."

Arthur sighed. "Yes. If you must know she did dump me. She said our relationship wasn't enough to make her feel fulfilled and that she needed to find herself." He decided to leave out the part about space, because it was far too humiliating and ironic for Arthur to admit to just yet. Not in front of Ford at least. "I should have seen it coming."

"You should have."

"You're terrible at being comforting," he frowned.

"I'm just saying," Ford went on, resting their joined hands on the steps between them, "she was sweet and kind, but she was too perfect. The two of you were alike in nearly every way. It was perfect and easy and boring! That's not love. Love is complicated and frustrating and completely different from you in every way. It's someone unexpected, not someone you'd pick out for yourself in a catalogue. Where's the adventure in that?"

"That's where you're wrong," Arthur countered with a shake of his head. "Love doesn't have to be an adventure, and it certainly doesn't have to be a headache! Love is comfortable and warm. It's something that you can come home to day after day and never grow tired of. Just look at my parents. They've been married for thirty-five years! They still go to the same markets, eat the same food, and have the same arguments that they've had for the last three decades. And do you know what? They're perfectly happy!"

Ford turned and glanced over his shoulder, a look of quiet horror on his face as he stared at the house behind them. "That's terrible."

"That's marriage. That's love!"

"So you wanted to marry Fenchurch so that the two of you could be your parents?"

"No, I..." his words came to a gradual halt as a deep blush spread across his face. "I wanted to marry her so that Dougie could have a mother."

"Well that's stupid," Ford scoffed. " _You're_ his mother."

"I am _not_ his mother!"

"You are his mother! You carried him, you birthed him, and you've been looking after him for almost four years now. That sounds an awful lot like a mother to me."

"Oh wonderful, so first I started off as straight, then I became gay, and now I suppose I'm a lesbian."

Ford shook his head as he dug around his satchel for something. "You human's and your labels. Why do you have to be an anything? Why can't you just be someone who enjoys a good fuck?"

He twisted his head around and stared at the white door with its chipped paint, half expecting it to swing open at any moment. "You know I just realized that we're having this conversation while my parents are most likely just on the other side of that door." 

"Here," Ford said as he forced Arthur's hand open and pressed something into his palm. He looked down to see a single gold band with a modest sized stone set in the middle of it. "I never sold it. And I didn't toss it either. I lied about that part. I just didn't want you to go looking for it."

"Ford."

"I suppose I just wanted a second chance," Ford said honestly. His hand had finally released Arthur's from its hold and it was strange how cold and empty it suddenly felt. "Things could have been different for us. They could have been better." He sighed as he pulled out his beaten up old cap from within his satchel and gripped it tightly in his hands. "If I hadn't screwed things up, we could have been a real family. I could have taken care of you, helped you to figure out what was wrong instead of finding out at the end. We could have raised Dougie together, on Krikkit or in space. I could have been warm and comfortable for you and you'd be complicated and frustrating for me. We could have found an adventure together, made a home together." A sad smile crept onto his face and if Arthur looked a bit closer, he would have seen the tears pricking the corners of Ford's eyes. "I'm too late this time, I guess." He stood, pulling the brim down on his hat so low that Arthur thought for a moment it would tear or slide right off. "Have a good life Arthur Dent."

He didn't know why he stood up, because by all rights Arthur Dent shouldn't want Ford Prefect or like him or even be willing to put up with him for more than five minutes, but for some unexplainable reason in that moment he thought he loved him. So he went for him, stopped him just before he could reach the front gate, and kissed him right there in his parents' garden. 

Ford was surprised, Arthur could feel it from the way his slim body tensed beneath him, but that didn't stop Ford from wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist and pressing them closer. "Let's give it a year," Arthur breathed against him once there was enough space between them to speak again. His lips felt numb and Ford's breath was hot against his face, but he pushed on before he could lose his nerve. "One year. There's still so much about Dougie that I don't know or understand and... and I need help."

Ford kissed him again, soft and gentle the way he had the very first time and Arthur actually felt his knees tremble when he pulled away. "You'll be mum and I'll be dad?"

"Let's not go that far," Arthur warned with a breathless chuckle. "Do... do you want to meet my parents?"

He watched as Ford glanced over at the cottage, frowning distastefully, before giving a reluctant shrug. "Yeah," he said as his hold on Arthur relaxed. "Yeah, I guess so. I'll have to meet my in-laws eventually."

**Author's Note:**

> While this story takes place within the book canon, I modeled the characters after their movie counterparts.


End file.
